Interesting Dynamics
by ZombieJazz
Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.
1. To Him

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Erin glanced at the time on her phone and let out a slow sigh. As much as she wanted to be there – she also didn't. She understood what being there represented and she was prepared for the disappointment it was going to create.

She again looked around at the bustling crowds. People coming. People going. Waiting for family. Waiting for friends. Waiting for trains. Waiting for cabs. Everyone going about their own business. Some likely minding other's business and business they shouldn't be minding at all. She found her training kicking in and that she was scanning all those around her. Watching people's movements and actions. But she shook herself out of it – that wasn't the object of the day. Not at that moment.

She shifted her eyes up to the arrival board again. Of course the train had to be running late. Only fourteen minutes late – but enough to throw off her schedule for the day. And, even though it had now pulled into the station almost 11 minutes ago – she still hadn't spotted who she was looking for.

She was starting to think that Hank had given her false information about where to wait. Maybe it was like the airport and the kid had some attendant with him? Take him off the train last? Or maybe they'd even taken him to some sort of kiddie holding area – and she was supposed to pick him up there?

But just as she was starting to glance around to see if she could find an Amtrak info booth or staff member to ask where the hell the kid might be, she spotted him out of the corner of her eye. She found herself stopping suddenly and letting her eyes shift to take him in. He was bigger than the last time she'd seen him but he still looked so small – so much of a little boy. But that was likely to be expected. He was built like his father and likely wasn't going to sprout to be taller than him. But even though he had that bulldog look to him – in appearance, he was undisputedly his mother – almost eerily so. That surfer blonde hair just peaking out from under his beanie – that he was wearing even though it was very near summer. Those deep green eyes that he was only one of two people that she'd ever seen with eyes quite that color. The high cheekbones and the gentle smile.

He smiled as he saw her – involuntarily. But she saw him wince as he did. The reason behind that wasn't hidden. His face looked like it'd been used as a punching bag. It was bruised purple and blue. His one eyes was barely open to even see that haunting green. His jaw was scuffed – almost with gravel rash – and his lip was cracked open and seeping that she almost wondered if she should swing him around to Chicago Med to have it stitched up before they went anywhere else.

She gave him a sad smile from where they stood – still strides apart from each other.

"Ethan …" she allowed and gave her head a little shake.

He looked to the ground and scuffed his foot, casting her a shy glance.

Erin let out a little sigh and closed the gap between them. She put her one finger under his chin and made him look up at her. He looked even worse from that angle. He was puffy from the battering. It had to hurt but he remained stoic. That's what he did. It was what he'd been taught.

"What did you do?" she said to him.

Of course Hank had left this part out. He always left something out. But she supposed she didn't need to the play-by-play to start to piece together what had likely happened. She'd known that something had happened – and it'd been bad – just based on the fact he was there and it sounded like he was going to be there for a while.

But Ethan just shrugged at her. He apparently wasn't going to be the one to give her any sort of clarification. At least not yet. But that was OK. She'd figure it out herself – or she'd get it out of the two of them bit by bit of the course of this visit. She didn't doubt that.

"Does it hurt?" she didn't really need to ask. She knew he'd deny it – but she knew he must be in pain.

"Not much," he allowed quietly.

She gave him a sad smile at that. "Good," she said. "Then you've got no excuse to be acting like you're too grown up to give me a hug."

He gave her another shy smile but then obliged her. His arms wrapping around her and she did the same. She still had about a foot on him height-wise but with where his head was gently resting, where his arms wrapped around her torso – he'd grown since the last time she saw him. Too much. Far too much considering she could remember the day he'd come home from the hospital. That she could still see that little baby she'd gotten to hold in her arms and that pudgy little toddler running around the house and stealing the show at her graduation. But his touch and breathing against her felt sad now – and holding him in that moment, she felt a little sad too.

"I missed you," he said at a near whisper. She almost wasn't sure he'd meant to say it aloud – or if she'd been meant to hear it.

"I missed you too, Eth," she allowed.

"You stopped coming," he said even more faintly and more than a little defeated.

She let out another quiet sigh and found herself gripping at the material of that hat more. She wanted to rip it off him. To really be allowed to look at him. To run her hand through his tuffy curls. To try to make sure he was really OK. This was likely the first touch he was getting on months and months and months – besides apparently having the living shit beaten out of him.

"Well, your dad and I talked about it and we decided—". It was a lie she was about to tell him. There was no 'we' decided. She'd been told – and she listened. Something that maybe she did too much with Hank. But she owed him that much. Didn't she? She didn't have to complete the lie, though – and that was a good thing, because Ethan would've known she was lying to him. But she thought he would've understood too.

He interrupted her with, "Dad's not here."

She let out another small sigh and looked down at him. He'd pulled away slightly and looked up at her. His eyes even sadder.

"It's a work day, Eth," she tried.

"Every day's a work day," he said glumly but there was a criticalness to it, and he pulled away from her more, straightening.

"He's waiting for you," she added instead and bent to pick up his overloaded duffle bag from where he'd dropped it on the floor. It was as big as him and likely weighed as much as him. Considering the way he looked, it was a miracle that he'd even been able to carry it.

"I've got it," he said and moved to grab it too.

She just gave him a smile and nudged his shoulder to jostle him away, as she hauled the thing up over her own shoulder. It weighed a fucking ton.

"Enjoy it," she said. "Usually little brothers are supposed to be big sis's pack horse."

He gave her a patronizing look – that even if he didn't get to spend much time around Hank these days, he'd undoubtedly learned from him.

"This everything?" she asked, and juggled the bag's straps a bit, trying to find a comfortable position for hauling this thing to the car.

"I guess," Ethan said.

She gave him a disapproving look. "You got some boxes shipped as cargo or something that we gotta go pick up?"

"No," he said mopely. "Dad said what I could fit in the bag."

She gave him a sad look. "OK. Well, I'm sure the school will ship home anything you left."

"I guess," he allowed again.

"I think you did a good job at packing this," she allowed. "It feels like you've got a body in here."

"Yeah," he said again and started to trudge after her, as they dodged others and worked at making their way to the vehicle she'd brought over.

She gave him a teasing look. "Yeah, you've got a body in here?"

He gave her an annoyed look. "No."

"That's good," she provided. "I was starting to think we were going to have to put you in the cage when we got down to district."

"Dad's likely going to put me in there anyways," Ethan said flatly.

She cast him a look. But he just gazed at her with those sad eyes.

"Is he real mad?" he asked softly.

She let out a small sigh and reached her hand out to touch his shoulder and guide him along.

"C'mon," she said. "Let's just get you to him."

She didn't think she needed to anything more. She thought they both knew the answer to his question.


	2. Better

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Erin glanced behind her to make sure Ethan was still following. She partially expected that he was going to bolt on her. Then they'd both be in trouble. And with the wrong person to be in trouble with.

Ethan hadn't said a word on the drive over to district. She'd tried talking to him but he'd just gazed out the window and played the mute. She figured that was OK. Only not really. But she understood he had a lot on his mind. And, he was likely scared shitless. And embarrassed.

He'd sat doing almost breathing exercises before she nearly had to physically remove him from the car. Even when he did get out he'd stood leaning against the door just looking at the district building for a good long while. She'd finely had to pull out her 'mean' voice to get him moving – even then it was at a snail's pace.

She nodded at the desk sergeant as she came in. She could see Platt eyeing the bulking duffle bag questioningly. Erin didn't doubt that Voight hadn't told a soul what was going on and who was going to be around their unit all day. And, it was going to come as a shock to some of the guys upstairs. Jay. Ruzek, maybe. But Jay was likely going to take it personally somehow. Piled it on as some other layer of reason not to trust Voight. Or reason not to like him.

"We need to sign this guy in, or we good?" Erin directed at her, gesturing behind her to where Ethan was trudging up the stairs, making sure not to make eye contact with anyone.

But Trudy lit up on seeing the kid and cast Erin a surprised look. She didn't wait for Platt's answer about if the kid needed sign in. She dropped the bag and worked on filling in the form on Ethan's behalf. Good knows what could go down in that particular day – there should be some record he was in the building. Though, Hank likely wouldn't approve.

"While I live and breath, is that little Ethan Voight?" Platt said.

The boy slowly looked up at her, casting his eyes up from his feet in an embarrassed glance, making sure to keep his body hunched in just the right way that he was mostly looking at the floor.

Trudy made a face as she got a glimpse of his and gave Erin a look. "What happened to him?"

Lindsay stopped her writing and looked down at Ethan too, pointing the pen toward the desk sergeant. "You want to tell Sergeant Platt what happened?" she put to him.

Ethan gave a glance up again, briefly meeting Erin's eyes – which clearly indicated he should be showing some respect to the adults with rank in the room now that he was on his dad's turf – and he cautiously moved to Platt's.

"I got in a fight," he said quietly.

Trudy made another face – one of clear acknowledgement of the likely scenarios of how this was going to play out. Basically – the kid's face might look messy now – but by the time Voight was done with him, he was likely going to look a lot worse. Not that Voight would lay a hand on his son. But hell was definitely going to rain down on him.

"Sent home from school kind of fight?" Trudy put to Erin, who'd gone back to scrawling on the clipboard.

She handed the board off to Ethan and pointed at the line. "Sign," she told him flatly and looked back at Platt. "I think it's a bit more than a 'sent home from school' kind of fight."

The desk sergeant's eyes set on the bulking duffle bag as she let that set in.

"Ohh …", she allowed cautiously and eyed the boy again as he reached to put the clipboard back on the counter that was still a little high for him, and nudged it across.

"So Ethan is going to be spending the day hanging out with us," Erin tried to add cheerily.

"Ohh…", Platt offered again and looked at the kid. "Well, that should be … fun."

Ethan gave her a look. They all knew it wasn't going to be fun. In a best case scenario, Voight would have the kid sitting in the lunch room all day – likely with his nose against the wall or head on the table being sure to go in there and pound on it every chance he got to make sure the boy wasn't sleeping. The other scenarios about how Hank was likely to deal with this situation? Well, Erin wasn't particularly sure she wanted to think about them. But she did know what her evening was going to entail now. She'd be over trying to pick up the pieces for a 12 year old kid who was already clearly broken.

"Well, Ethan, I'm not sure you remember me, but –"

"I remember you," Ethan interrupted and glanced up from his examination of the floor. "You came to the hospital."

Trudy allowed him a sad smile at that. "I did," she provided.

"You brought flowers shaped like a dog. You said because I shouldn't remember flowers just being sad."

"I did," she allowed again with an even sadder smile.

"You brought a dog stuffie too."

"Well, you were a lot littler back then," she said and stood a bit straighter, working to recomposes' herself and hide any softness she might've once shown the boy.

Ethan gave her a small glance, examining her with a scrutiny that was almost scary but then he looked back to his feet again.

"I've still got it," he said and his foot nudged at the duffle bag ever so lightly.

Platt's efforts to compose herself seemed to stop and she again gazed at the top of the boy's head.

He was just a little kid. A little kid right at the age where he wasn't such a little kid anymore and he was near perfectly set to have his teen years be a train wreck. It seemed like he was trying to get an early start on just that too. If Hank had thought managing Justin through his teens had been messy – this was setting to blow up in his face in a whole different way. He couldn't send Ethan off to the army just yet. Though, military school might be what Voight saw as the solution – since apparently broading school hadn't whipped him into shape the way Hank wanted. Instead it'd set the foundation for this. Sending a little boy away while still grieving his mother, while still making his own recovery, while his older brother is in jail, while his father is being accused for being dirty and so busy running away from what happened in his family that he was never there anyways.

Whip Ethan into shape? Make him grow up? Turn him into a man? It seemed more like he'd been locked away and forgotten about. Or at least tried to. And that instead had created a sad, angry, broken, isolated and dysfunctional boy who was about to enter his teens – and now was back in Chicago with a father who wasn't around and who didn't seem to want much to do with him. Though, Erin knew it wasn't so much that Hank didn't want much to do with him. It was that Hank didn't want the reminders that Ethan entailed. The visible reminder of Camille. The daily reminder of what happened. The representation of his failings as a father and a husband and a parent.

Erin advocated for Hank all the time. She was on his side. She supported his decisions – or at least she abided by them. But his decisions regarding Ethan – the little boy who she'd been living in their home when Camille had been pregnant, who she'd gone to the hospital to see after he was born, who she'd helped change diapers and babysat, and played with, who she'd grown to love like he was her baby brother – those had been hard to support. Even harder to abide by.

Hank had taken her in when she had barely turned 14. Now his son was charging toward the same birthday – those years where he'd known with her that if he didn't step in, she was going to be lost – yet he was so far removed. So dedicated to being this scary gruff man. Even scarier and gruffer than he'd ever been with her or Justin. But they weren't the same kind of reminders or failings as Ethan. But why should Ethan have to be the one who paid for that?

Erin let out another slow sigh and again picked up the duffle.

"C'mon," she said again, starting for the secure stairs up to the unit.

Ethan eyed her as she scanned her handprint to get inside. He likely felt like he was being led up to some kind of jail – not a safe, secure place at all.

She held the door for him and gestured for him to head up. He gave her those sad eyes but again started to trudge up the stairs. He'd come to a stop at the top of the stairs – unmoving and it wasn't until Lindsay reached the floor with him that she saw why.

Voight had come out of his office and was just standing at the door glaring intensely at the boy. There wasn't a word exchanged between them. Just that downward scowl that Hank was an expert at. If you didn't know him – it was unquestioningly intimidating. Even when you did know him – he was intimidating. He wasn't a teddy bear. He was hard to like. He was harder to read. But under it he was a good person – in his own way. In a grey area kind of way.

His eyes moved from Ethan to Erin as she got to the top of the stairs and she glared right back at him. They both knew that she didn't like how he was going to deal with this. She didn't even know how he intended to deal with this mess yet – but she already knew that she didn't like how he would. Part of her just wanted to pack Ethan back into her car. To drive him to her apartment. To drop him off there. To deal with this herself – her way. Because, yeah, she was really angry at him too. Fighting in school – it was stupid. Getting kicked out of school? Stupider.

She knew what her deal with Hank had been when she was that age. One strike. Getting in trouble at school? Getting in a fight? Getting kicked out? He wouldn't have tolerated it. He told her as much. But somehow with Ethan she wanted it to be different.

She wanted to talk to him herself. To deal with it herself. To figure out the solution herself. Before the rage of his father rained on him. Only it wouldn't be rage. It would just be what had happened right there. That glare. That scowl. And, then – eventually – Ethan would be told what his punishment was going to be. What was expected of him. Where he was going to be shuttled away to this time. And then he'd be dropped off somewhere – and if it was by Hank it wouldn't come with so much as a hug goodbye.

It broke her heart. This little boy was born into a family with a daddy and a loving, good mom. A big brother. He'd even gotten her as his quasi big sister. He should've had so much promise. His life should've been happy and stable. Sure, he would've grown up with a cop dad in a police family. There always would've been some instability with that. Worry. Stress. There would've been a rebellious period. He would've had some resentment toward Hank no matter what – father's and sons. He would've tested boundaries and had some bitterness about being a cop kid, about where his dad dedicated his time and energy. But Camille would've made sure he didn't lack too much. She would've taken care of him. She would've seen to it that he was raised right. That he had a happy, normal childhood. That he was watched and guided and supported into his teens too.

But all that had been stripped from him – and Erin knew exactly which ways Ethan could be going now. She'd seen them. She'd stood on the edge of them herself. She'd watched Justin tumble down into them already. She interacted with kids weekly who were running down paths they shouldn't be but that life circumstances opened up to them as the best choices.

This shouldn't be Ethan's best choice. He had more than that. He knew better than that. He deserved better than that.

Hank's stare with her seemed to drill into her for too long – enough that she wanted to look away. That she thought about backing down. But then he turned just as abruptly and retreated back into his office.

Ethan's head again slumped and he looked at the floor.


	3. Enough Chatter

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

"OK, what was that?" Ruzek blurted as soon as Lindsay got into the lunchroom and shut the door.

"We don't want to know," Olinsky put to him flatly, his chair rocking as he turned away from Adam and from his observation of the show.

And a show was what it was. And, it was likely only going to get worse. Voight didn't like being on display – and this was definitely going to have him on display whether he liked it or not.

Alvin didn't want any part of that. He knew when to turn a blind-eye and this was one of those times. The problem was they had too many youngens in their unit who still were learning when not to ask any fucking questions. When to mind their own fucking business. When to stay out of everyone else's. That leaving well enough alone was part of having each other's backs.

And, that particular day – not touching this with a 10 foot pole was going to be the smart thing to do.

Olinsky didn't know what was going on. He sure as hell hadn't been brought into any kind of loop where Voight felt like he should be given any heads up about his family business. Because it was his family business. If there was something going on that he needed to actually know about – he'd know. It wasn't like Olinsky went out of his way to tell Voight about his family's dirty laundry either.

Dealing with kids that age on the job was hard enough. At least he had his wife around to deal with the brunt of it. Not that that attitude had done much for their marriage. But it was more than Hank had. Al knew he would've been just as fucked if he'd gotten left with a teenaged kid and a grade schooler like Hank had when Camille died. Hell, he might've been more fucked. He had a daughter. That was a whole different ball game than boys. And dealing with Lexi as a teenager now was hard enough.

But she was also his fucking sanity. As much sanity as he could keep while living in a fucking garage. But he'd done it for her. So he'd still be there. So she'd still have a dad. No matter how much she hated his guts anymore.

Though, Voight seemed to have managed to get Justin and Ethan to hate his guts with the diatonic opposite method. Casting the kids about as far away as possible. Though, that hadn't been the initial plan. The guy had fucking tried. But Justin was already on a path to destruction that even with all Hank's hooks, he couldn't pull him out of. Making him enlist was likely the smartest move he could've made as a father at that point. And, as for Ethan? Olinsky didn't think he'd know what the hell to do with a little kid that age either if he'd been left a widow – and he'd had a glimpse of what that might look like. He'd seen his wife's life hanging in the balance too. And, even know, he didn't know how he'd fucking pull Lexi through it if things had worked out differently. And, she was sixteen.

What the fuck would've he done with an seven year old?

It would've been the kid or the job. And likely a whole lot of booze. And likely some more kills under his belt.

He'd rather not think about it. And, he sure as hell wasn't going to ask Voight about it – unless he brought him into the fold about what was going on. Though, even looking at the kid he could draw his own conclusions about what had gone on. Didn't take much detective work to piece together that one. The bigger question was what would be coming next. Olinsky wasn't going to hazard any guesses on that.

"OK, WHO was that?" Ruzek rephrased.

"Ethan," Al muttered.

"Ethan?" Ruzek put back to him.

Al swiveled his chair and looked at the kid. Ruzek could be so fucking brash. So fucking cocky. Too full of himself. Too big of chip on his shoulder. Even now he hadn't been knocked down enough pegs to be kept in his place. Still saying and doing stupid things. Still too much growing up to do, though, at least he was starting to get there.

He thought Ruzek could piece together who it was. This wasn't fucking rocket science. If he couldn't make enough observations of the situation to be able to get a read on what had just stomped through their bullpen, he likely needed to have his ass kicked back into the academy – again. Get him finished out.

It was worse because if anyone sitting in the bullpen should have an inkling of who Ethan was it was likely Ruzek. He supposed that Dawson might know the name – or of his existence. But Antonio was sitting there to be a nosey little bugger right then. And he would've fucking known better too. He understood how these things worked – both as a cop and as a father. Ruzek – not so much.

If anything it likely showed how little Disco Bob actually did say about Voight. That was likely a good thing. Didn't need the elder Ruzek saying anymore than he already did in trying to blemish Adam's own thoughts about his sergeant.

"Ethan …" Ruzek said again and gazed over to the window of the lunchroom more as he processed that. The wheels seemed to be turning and clicking into place – like he was starting to pick up where he might've heard the name before. Because, he likely had. It wasn't a state secret – but Voight definitely didn't talk about his kids. Any of them. Even his relationship with Lindsay was kept on the hush – though it was far from secret.

Secret or not, though – Al knew better than to be the one caught wagging tongues with some sort of office gossip about Voight – or any of his kids, Erin included. And seeing as Erin seemed to be the lucky one to be thrown right into the midst of dealing with whatever this was – he sure wasn't going to be talking or staring.

"Enough with the chatter, patrolman," Olinsky barked at Ruzek and gave him a stern look of warning.

Adam just squinted back at him. He wasn't one to let things die. Though, in this case, he should just let sleeping dogs lie. This wasn't any puzzle that needed to be pieced together. It was just a matter of letting a father deal with his family business. That's all the heed it needed in that moment. End of story.


	4. Just You

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Erin popped the tab on the soda and set it down on the table next to Ethan. He glanced up at her.

"That's it?"

She raised her eyebrow at him. "You said you didn't want breakfast. So, yeah, you're going to have to wait until lunch - and hopefully there will be a lull and I can take you out or go grab you something."

"I could go get something myself, you know," he muttered.

She shook her head. "You know that's not going to happen."

He just slumped on table, very purposely pushing the Coke out of his reach. She gave him a disapproving look but also thought it was probably best he wasn't downing a Coke at 10 a.m. anyways – or at all.

"I meant Dad, anyways," he muttered.

Erin let out a little sigh and sat down at the table. "Did you really expect something other than this?"

He gave he a small glance. "He didn't even say anything," he whispered.

"Eth, what do you want him to say? Here?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Something."

She shook her head. "He's not going to say anything here," she put to him.

"Then why am I even here," he lamented and flopped his head the opposite direction so he wasn't even looking at her.

"Where do you think you should be?"

"Home," he muttered.

Erin slumped back in her chair and gazed at him. "Home? So you can watch TV and –"

"He probably doesn't even have TV anymore. And he doesn't even have wifi. Who doesn't have the internet?"

"Hmm," Erin allowed. She wasn't going to argue with him about it. Get into any sort of discussion with the kid about why Hank was or wasn't the way he was. Hank just was. "He wants me to get your phone too."

Ethan's head slowly shifted back to her and he eyed her. There was an anger there – an accusation. She was taking Hank's side the look said. He wanted her on his side – not Hank's.

"Did you think he was going to let you sit in here playing on it all day?" she put to him.

He glared at her but didn't bother to verbalize any argument. He didn't really need to. His eyes said it all. She'd just gone on his shit list. She didn't really want to be there. She thought she was likely his best chance at escaping this mostly unscathed. But try explaining that to a 12 year old.

He shoved his hand into his hoodie pocket and smacked the phone harshly on the table. If he'd been trying to break it – he really needed to try harder. She didn't comment on the display of aggression and just reached to take it.

"Thanks," she allowed.

"That's likely pretty stupid of him," Ethan mumbled. "Now he's not going to have any way to violate my rights and track me when I get out of here."

She smiled at the 'violating my rights' line can gave him a purposefully condescending look. "I don't think he's got to worry about that, because you aren't going to be stupid enough to make any of this worse by running off, are you?"

He glared at her and then looked away, flopping his head back onto his crossed arms.

"Don't give me that bullshit, Ethan," she said. "I'm pretty mad at you too."

"I don't care," he muttered.

"You should care," she put to him. "And, I think you do care. It's why you're putting on his tough guy act."

He rocked in his chair to inch it away from her. She put her hand out to stop the movement.

"You want to do that now – with me – fine," she said. "But with both know what it's not going to fly with your dad."

He tried to rock the chair under the weight of her hand. But it just proved that he was still a runt of a kid. The strength of her one arm was enough to keep him in place. He looked on her in pure frustration and more fully propelled his body in the seat to drag the chair away from her.

"I don't care!" he shouted at her. She knew it was loud enough that others outside the door likely heard. She hoped it wasn't loud enough that Voight heard – because that meant that he'd either be in their in a split second and ripping into Ethan or when she went out there he'd be ripping into her for letting Ethan talk to her that way. "I DIDN'T LIKE THAT FUCKING SCHOOL ANYWAYS! IT SUCKED BALLS! I DON'T CARE I GOT KICKED OUT! FUCK THEM!"

She just eyed him. His face was bright red with his anger but his eyes were glassing too.

"You done?" she put to him as the yelling stopped.

He huffed at her and slumped onto the table again. The juvenile temper tantrum more than apparent.

"You should care," she said.

"They were always making fun of me," he whispered.

She leaned down to get into his face more. "And you think I never got teased? Never got bullied?"

He just shrugged. She pushed at his arm until he looked at her and she drilled her eyes into him.

"I did," she pressed. "St. Ignatius wasn't exactly a walk in the park, Ethan. And you know the deal I had with your dad? If I got in a fight – if I got expelled –"

"He wouldn't have cared if it was Justin," Ethan muttered and looked away again.

She pushed at his arm again. "Hey, look at me," she demanded. He reluctantly looked back at her. "Justin would've been in just as much trouble."

"Dad would've bailed him out," Ethan mumbled at her.

"Oh. So you wanted your dad to get the school you hate to keep you there?"

"Better then being here," he spat at her.

She sighed at him and just shook her head. She didn't know what to say to him. She didn't know what the fuck to do with him. What the fuck was Hank going to do with him?

"He's just going to send me away again anyways," Ethan said. "Just like Justin."

"He didn't send Justin away," Erin sighed.

"He let him go to jail," Ethan said.

"Justin got himself sent to jail," Erin said sternly, getting down on the table so she was right in his face again. "And, if you aren't careful, if you keep … lashing out at people, using your fists—"

"He started it," Ethan muttered.

She gave him a look. She wasn't sure she believed him. And that upset her. She wanted to believe him. "So you're expelled and the other guy started it? I don't think so, Ethan."

He glared at her. "See, you don't know what it's like. You—"

She held up her hand. "Ethan, just … stop it. It doesn't even matter what happened."

"But—"

"You were expelled, Ethan!" she raised her voice at him. "You got in a fight – and you were expelled. It doesn't matter who throw the first punch. It doesn't matter that he was teasing you. What matters right now is that you were kicked out of that school – and you were kicked out for the one thing that Hank has explicitly told all of us he doesn't tolerate. Explaining that to him is the one thing you should be thinking about – worrying about."

"It doesn't even matter. He doesn't care about any of it either," he seethed at her.

She gave him a sad look. "Ethan, he does care."

Ethan shook his head and looked away from her. "No, he doesn't. You're perfect so you don't get it. You're so perfect you're the only one he keeps around. He just wants to get rid of me and Justin."

"Ethan, that's not true," she pressed back and put a hand on his back.

He likely didn't realize just how untrue it was. She'd managed to keep her past fairly hidden from Ethan. It wasn't anything that the little boy needed to know. It was something that she'd been in a period of trying to forget – trying to move beyond – while he was growing up. She still was. And she knew the whole reason she got the opportunity to move on – to be someone else, to have a life and a job and a future, and a family – was because of Hank Voight. He knew all her imperfections. All the messy details of it. She didn't have many secrets with Hank. That hadn't been allowed. And in many ways it still wasn't.

But Ethan was too young to know that and too young to really understand it – to appreciate all the dynamics of it. So instead he pulled away from her. "Yes, it is. Look around. You're here. Not me. Not Justin. Just you."


	5. Terrified

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Erin stepped into Hank's office – without knocking. He gave her a look. His disapproval was clear. He didn't intend to talk about it with her. But she choose to ignore it and moved to shut the door.

"Leave it open," he rasped at her.

She looked back over her shoulder to see his glare. It was now her who was getting that downcast scowl that was challenging her to confront him. That was already telling her who was going to win.

She crossed her arms and turned back at him. "OK …" she allowed.

There stare down continued for a little too long. It was clear that he didn't intend to have a conversation. Not with her. Not with Ethan. Not there.

She pulled out Ethan's phone and tossed it lightly at Hank's desk. It clattered but he didn't even cast his eyes at it.

"Did your dirty work for you," she stated flatly.

He made that unimpressed pucker at her – his eyes drilling into her even more, as he shoved his hands deep into his pockets and rocked slightly forward on the balls of his feet.

"Picking him up from the train station is dirty work?"

"You could've confiscated his phone yourself," she put to him.

He gave her an amused look. "Confiscated?" he put right back to her. "It's my phone. He was just holding it."

"Well, now he's not," she said.

Voight nodded and wandered behind his desk, reaching to retrieve the thing and look at it. Ethan undoubtedly had it locked so now it was likely only a matter of time before Hank took the thing downstairs and had Mouse cracking it for him. That was likely to take all of 30 seconds. And to look at what? Facebook postings and tweets and the pre-pubescent version of sexting that was terrifyingly wrong all on its own accord – and likely all communications that Hank had been monitoring anyways without taking Ethan's phone away.

"Hank, you can't just leave him sitting in there all day," she tried a bit more gently with him – after giving him a moment to fiddle with the electronic.

He glanced up at her and gave her another small scowl. "Tell you what, after you've raised three kids – you can come in here and give me all the advice you want on parenting."

She sighed and looked down to examine the floor. Hank was an expert at putting people in their place. Batting them there in a way that knocked the wind out of their sails and the air right out of their lungs. There was usually little point in arguing – especially after his mind was made about something. Getting him to budge was near impossible. Getting him to admit defeat? Even harder. And getting him to admit he might be wrong about something? You might as well be offering yourself up for crucifixion.

"He's terrified," Erin tried.

Voight nodded. "Good," he said flatly.

"He's terrified of you," she clarified and he gave her another small glance but it again had that look of disapproval.

"Good," he provided even more forcibly.

"He's twelve, Hank," she pleaded. "He's your son." The disapproval in his eyes became even more apparent. But she made herself push on. "He's a little kid. So he got in a fight –"

The phone dropped back to the desk with a clatter and his hands went to his waist and he stared her down.

"You think that's the first stunt he's pulled at that school?"

"Hank—"

He held up his hand to silence her.

"You're right," he said harshly. "He is my son and I will—"

"He's sitting in there wondering why you aren't talking to him. Why you aren't at least yelling at him," she cut him off.

He glared at her. But Erin just shook her head and looked down. She never knew how to challenge this man. She never knew how to interact with him when she knew so intimately how much he'd saved her – but how she could see so clearly all his failings with his sons. Some of their own faults – and others so undisputedly of choices Hank had made as a father. How he'd known what she needed in a father but how apparently those methods didn't work with his own flesh and blood? Not with boys? Not when it came to fathers and sons?

She turned at headed for the door and back into the bullpen.

"You should talk to him, Hank," she said more softly – though not timidly. "You should take him home. You don't want everyone here wondering what's going on." She made a small gesture between them. "Talking about this dysfunctional little family's dirty laundry. I know I don't want to field questions about it. And it's going to be me that they're going to ask." He gazed at her without comment. "Take him home, Hank," she pressed again, "Or you let me know what you want me saying to them when they start prying."

"I think you can figure something out, detective," he put to her flatly. "You're supposed to be good at covert intelligence."

She just gave him a sad look. "My baby brother isn't some covert operation that needs to be covered up, Hank," she said. "I'm not the one trying to figure out ways to try to forget about him."


	6. Alien Planet

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Voight watched as the kid stepped into the house like he was stepping onto some sort of alien planet. Glancing around like he didn't recognize a thing. Like maybe if he touched something he might go nuclear winter.

But he had no reason to be that timid about the house. It was the same as always. He hadn't moved a thing – not changed a thing – since Camille died. The frames her had up. The knick-knacks she had on the shelves. What she'd had hanging in the closets. It was all still there. All in the same place she left it.

In a way, Voight knew that he was making it a fucking museum. A monument to someone who hasn't there. But the reality was he was almost never there – so why shouldn't it be hers? He'd bought the house for her. For her and their kids. A nice place – a safe place – for her to raise his family. Or at least that's what it was supposed to have been. What it should've been.

"Upstairs," Hank grunted at Ethan – moving along the show. He didn't need to be looking around and acting like a lost wounded puppy.

The kid looked up at him. Besides when he'd gone into the lunchroom to retrieve him – it'd been the only moment he'd looked at him.

"Can I have some lunch first?" Ethan asked quietly.

"What do you think?" Hank put back to him.

Ethan looked away at that. It seemed like his feet were pretty interesting these days. "But I'm hungry," he said quietly.

"Good," Hank provided. "Maybe a bit of discomfort will get you thinking a bit straighter."

The kid cast him a look. It was hurt. Hank didn't care.

"Upstairs," he ordered again, dropping the duffle bag he'd been hauling inside the front door.

He'd thought about making Ethan carry it but he could see how heavy the thing was and he could see how his son was carrying himself. He was hurt. Badly. He knew the school nurse had attended to him. That it'd been deemed that he didn't need to go to the hospital – even though the school had suggested that maybe he should sign off on that in case there were any legal ramifications from the 'assault'. Hank had scoffed at that. Assault his ass. It was a fucking fistfight instigated by a fucking prissy ass rich kid – a fucking spoiled brat – who'd been giving his kid a hard time since Day One. Sure, Ethan may have hit back that day – but his kid sure as hell looked like he'd paid for that and than some. And, if the school thought there was going to be any lawsuit raining down on his kid – they had another thing coming. That family and the whole fucking school would be dealing with a whole lot more than a fucking fistfight.

Hank figured he'd likely be taking his son over to the hospital – or at least the family doc. Get him really checked out because with the way he was holding himself, he wouldn't be surprised if the fucking prick had cracked his boy's ribs. And, in the very least that split lip needed to be glued and he might benefit from a Steri-stripe on his brow too. He might toss him down on the toilet seat and do it himself. Give him a chance to jerk his chin around a bit – make him wince some with some real hurt – and get him cleaned up. Because the school also sure as hell hadn't sent his son home mended in their rush to give him the boot. But Hank also thought he might let him hurt for a few more hours. Take him in after shift. Let him think about the fucking mess he'd gotten himself into because he couldn't manage his fucking emotions. He couldn't fucking deal. Grow up.

Ethan glanced back at the bag hit the ground. He inched towards it, apparently thinking that part of his punishment was going to be to drag the thing up the stairs.

"Upstairs," Hank said again and pointed.

Ethan blinked at him. "Don't I get my bag?"

"Not until I go through it," Hank said flatly.

Ethan gazed at it dejectedly. "It's just my stuff," he provided quietly.

Voight just pointed at the kid. "Leave your backpack there too."

His son's eyes shifted to his again briefly and his mouth gaped. The backpack clearly contained his laptop. Probably his headphones. Likely comics and magazines and some sort of reading material. His baseball glove and a ball. And anything that he probably wasn't supposed to have on his person but was on his person – was likely in that bag. It wasn't going anywhere. And, even after Hank was done going through it – he likely wasn't getting most of it back. He could kiss his laptop and his phone goodbye for the foreseeable future. He likely wouldn't be seeing either again until at least the fall when he figured out where the fuck he was going to put him now that he had an expulsion on his record. What the hell kind of favors was he going to have to call in now to get someone to fucking deal with his kid for the next six years? He was actually thinking it'd be best to make his kid a bigger mark – let him us the communal computers and even a fucking pay phone. No more electronics for him. No more music and videogames and YouTube and fucking wasting his time when he should be getting a fucking education that he was paying fucking good money for.

Ethan offered no argument, though. At least sometimes he had some fucking common sense in his head. He let the straps slip down his arms and then held it out at him. Hank grabbed it and unzipped it, purposefully pulling the laptop out, giving it a small wag at him and setting it on the table in the entryway. It'd be leaving with him. Then he let the backpack drop heavily on top of the duffle.

"Upstairs," he directed again.

Ethan let out a quiet sigh but turned and moved to the stairs. He started up them. It was more of a trudge then any sort of mounting of them. Hank could almost feel the pain radiating off him. And as much as he wanted his son to man up – this was a kid, his kid and he was hurting because some jackass who was undoubtedly bigger than him had taken a swipe – more than one – at him.

Ethan started down the hall when he finally managed to drag himself to the top of the stairs. But Hank decided to take some pity on him.

"Bathroom," he rasped.

His son gave him a small glance but again obliged. Though, he barely stepped inside before he gave him another sad, questioning look.

"Sit," Hank ordered and pointed to the toilet.

Ethan trudged over and flipped down the seat, planting his ass on top and gave him another look. Hank ignored it. Opening the mirror and various cabinets to retrieve some first aid supplies.

Out of all the rooms in the house, sometimes he thought he hated the bathroom the most. He'd almost made himself go out of the way to make sure that it kept that feminine touch to it. That it was the space most likely to go to hell with just men left in the house. Pissing and shitting in there. Boys leaving their fucking damp socks and dirty trunks on the floor.

That's not the way Camille's bathroom was supposed to look. Her spa. She'd fucking called it that. They lived in a fucking blue-collar lower middle-class barely scrapping by three-storey that the only thing it had going for it was the decorative touches that she'd put into it – and she called the fucking bathroom a spa. Their only full bathroom. The bathroom they'd had to share with the kids. He couldn't even afford to get her a fucking en suite off the master bedroom. And she called it her fucking spa.

So he'd done his best to keep it as her spa. Her fucking shampoo was still in the shower. The little bowl of potpourri still sitting on the counter – now full of dust and grim and not smelling like much of anything expect maybe mildew from years of being in a room where the fan had never worked quite right and he'd never quite found the time to be home and fix it.

He walked over to Ethan and looked at him. Hank sort of hoped that the kid might just crash out for the afternoon. It didn't look like he'd slept – likely between his anxiety about coming home and the pain. Having any sort of conversation with him at this point was going to be useless. Not that Voight planned on it being much of a conversation. Ethan was the kid. He was the adult. The kid didn't have any say in this. The kid was supposed to fucking behave.

"You know we don't wear hats in this house," he put to him flatly.

Ethan gave him a sad look. His eyes seemed to brim at that but he quickly looked away and pulled his beanie off as he did. It was Hank who had to look away then. He'd made himself look for a second – to set eyes on the mangled mound of red scarring where there was supposed to be an ear, the angry rippled flesh that hugged across his temple and cursed onto the side of his forehead, the distinct hairless line that ran around his head and the still visible little holes from the staples that had brought his skull back together. He couldn't look. Still. After all these years. So instead focused on readying the first aid supplies on the counter.

He turned back to Ethan to find him watching. He reached and roughly tilted the kid's chin up, pressing his thumb into the bruise just enough for him to wince and jerk away a little bit. Voight just held him tighter.

"Keep still," he ordered and dabbed the Q-Tip at his lip. His son trembled a bit more. But Hank just adjusted him and took a look at the split. Getting that to seal was going to be fun. "Don't lick at it," he told him sternly and tilted his head so their eyes met and Ethan allowed a little nod but against winced with the movement of it while his chin was still gripped.

Voight adjusted his head again, examining the cut above his eye. That one looked like it'd at least been cleaned and half-ways tended too. He pressed his finger against the kid's eyebrow and looked. He wasn't a medical expert but he wouldn't be surprised if a doctor opted on one or two stitches there – or at least some glue. But he'd still for a Steri-stripe for now. He worked at getting it applied. Ethan jerked a couple times at the pressure.

"Other kid look this bad," he asked as he got it pressed down about as well as he was going to get it. The thing seemed too fucking big for his kid's face.

"No," Ethan said quietly. Voight gave him a look. If he was going to get in a fight the least he could fucking do was win. But maybe it was better in the long run that his son was the underdog. That might count in their favor if the school or family decided to do something stupid. "There were three of them," Ethan near whispered.

"That little prick and his posse?" Voight put to him. But Ethan just pulled his chin away from his grip and went back to examining the floor. It was spotless. The cleaning ladies did a good job at that. For a price. "I told you not to let them give you shit."

"You told me not to fight," Ethan provided.

"And you didn't fucking listen to that either, did you?" Hank put to him and the kid just looked up at him sadly. "You've got to stop acting like some little snot nosed kid."

"They were bigger than me," Ethan protested meekly.

"And stop playing the fucking victim, Ethan," Hank pushed at him even more forcibly. "It's old."

Problem was his kid was a fucking victim. His little boy and his wife. Only Ethan had gotten to walk away. But got left with a visible reminder – both for the kid and for Hank – of exactly what had happened. The scarring of that wasn't just on the outside of his son's body. Not for either of them. Not for Justin either. Not for Erin. Though, she likely did the best at any of them with fucking coping with it. Maybe she had more experience in that area than the rest of them. He'd raised his boys too soft to deal with it. Now look at them? One was a fucking convict and the other one was likely going to be headed there. There or the loony bin. Some days Hank didn't know.

What he did know was that every time he heard from the fucking school it sounded more and more like his kid was going to be one of the ones that cracked – that suddenly pulled a Columbine and everyone was mystified like they hadn't seen it coming. The funny thing was that Hank could see it coming. The fucking world was working at wearing down this kid. Other kids – in other situations – he knew how to try to fix that. His kid? He didn't fucking know.

He couldn't exactly hand Ethan over to the army and hope it shaped him up – kept him out of trouble – like he'd done with Justin. If anything, with Ethan, he figured it would traumatize him more. He was too soft. He was all Camille's. He was such a mama's boy and now without his mother he was just this fucking mess that Hank didn't have the first clue how to relate to. At least Justin he got. He didn't approve – but he got. Ethan? He didn't fucking know.

He'd send him to military school – try to toughen him up that way – but that'd likely be just as scaring for him as the actual military. Not to mention if he thought some prissy ass rich kids at a fucking boarding school gave him a hard time? He'd have another thing coming in a military environment. He'd be ridden. Hank wasn't sure he could put his baby boy through that even if he wasn't a baby anymore. He was still always going to be the youngest. He'd still always be Camille's baby – and that's how she'd want him treated. That soft, gentle little boy.

"Lift up your shirt," Hank ordered.

Ethan gave him a look but did – at least on the one side and wincing even more in the process. It was purple.

"Anything broken?" Hank put to him directly.

Ethan gazed at him. "Maybe," he said timidly.

Hank glared at him. "Jesus Christ, Ethan," he spat. "Did you fucking show the nurse that?"

He shrugged and winced in the process.

Hank let out an annoyed breath, and shaking his head, looked away. "I don't fucking understand you."

"I didn't tell cuz didn't want them to call you," Ethan protested. He sounded like he was going to cry and that just pissed Voight off more. He spun back at him.

"You don't want them to fucking call me – then don't go getting in fights. What have I fucking told you about fights? All of you!"

"Don't fight," Ethan provided – like it was that simple.

"Don't fucking get into fights," Hank pressed at him. "Jesus Fucking Christ. The three of you. Do you know how many fucking strings I have to pull for the three of you all the fucking time? Because none of you can keep your heads on straight! It's always something with one of you! Fuck," he cursed and swiped his hand across the counter, knocking the first aid contents and the bottle of hand soap to the floor. But he needed to hit something. It was better that than his son. Ethan had already been someone's punching bag anyways.

Ethan's head hung. And, Voight just let it. He gave himself the time to calm down.

"I don't have time to take you to the hospital right now," he finally allowed.

"OK," Ethan said quietly.

"I'll take you tonight," Voight said. "I'll get you some ice."

"OK," Ethan allowed quietly.

Voight let out a slow breath and then moved. Letting himself go to the kitchen and retrieve a cold pack out of the fridge. He carefully wrapped it in a tea towel and then set it on the counter. He could hear Ethan moving upstairs – and moving into a room he didn't want him in but he left it for the moment.

He opened the fridge and gazed into it. There wasn't much of anything he could feed his son. He didn't have reason to have a stocked fridge. But he made do with what was there. He was a kid – and he was beyond grounded – he didn't need anything fancy.

Grabbing the loaf of bread – or what was left of it that still looked edible – he slapped two pieces onto a plate. He squirted the yellow mustard in two quick circles on each slice and then slapped on a piece of salami. He gazed back in the fridge for a moment. He wished he had some Kraft Singles. The fucking kid loved the things. When he was a baby it was about all he'd eat. He was such a finicky eater. He still fucking was by all accounts. Only problem was now his mother wasn't around to make him things he actually liked to eat. At least there was orange juice – that hopefully wasn't too sour. The kid would likely drink that. He poured a glass and headed back up the stairs with the items.

He stopped and looked into his sons' bedroom as he got up there. The door was open and he was standing gazing at a crib and fingering at the toys hanging from the mobile.

"It's for the baby," Voight provided to him. "I'm storing it for your brother and Olive until they sort out what they're doing with their living arrangements."

Ethan gave him a glance and then looked around the rest of the room. It was mostly boxes right now. What the boys had left on the walls were still there. The beds were still set up. But everything else that had been in there was in boxes. There'd been plans for rearrangement at one point. Justin getting his own apartment and finally claiming the items he wanted from the childhood space. Erin too was supposed to clean out her room and Ethan's life was going to get moved into there. Give him the smaller room. Voight was going to redo the boys' room. Turn it into some sort of office. Or maybe finally get around to doing up that hobby room that he'd promised Camille but had never gotten around to. Those plans had all ground to a halt when Justin ended up in jail and he ended up at the beck and call of I.A. – and had to figure out what to do with his other kid. Then everything on the upper level of the house had just turned into a storage space. Boxes of past lives lost somewhere in the shuffle – even more than they already had been since Camille got taken away from them.

"You're staying in Erin's room," Voight put to him.

Ethan gave him a squint and with that look seemed to realize for the first time that he had food with him. He must've really been hungry because he actually came over to him and gave him a cautious look but claimed half the sandwich and stuffed a big bite into his mouth.

"I wanna stay in my room," Ethan said with his mouth still full.

"Have some fucking manners," Voight put to him and Ethan gave him another defeated look. "I don't care what you want," he added and gestured out the door. "Erin's room."

Ethan gave a little sigh but trudged passed him and to the next room down the hallway. He twisted the knob and entered, glancing uncomfortably around it. He gave Voight a look over his shoulder.

"Maybe I should ask her first?" he suggested.

"She doesn't care," Voight said and moved passed him to set the food on the bedside table and plopped the ice pack on the bed. He disappeared out the door for a moment, moving back to the bathroom to grab some Advil. Ethan was sitting on the corner of the bed looking rather out of place in Erin's room by the time he returned.

Erin had done a good job at picking apart the space bit by bit in the years since she'd moved out. The items that she wanted to hold on to were long gone but the remnants of her teens were still on full display in the room. A snapshot of what her life had looked like when she had lived with them. A tough girl – but a girl. Girlie but dreams of joining the boy's club even then. It was a strange mix. One that neither Camille or Hank had felt right about packing up – so they'd let her occupy the space in her own way long after she'd found her own place and was taking care of herself the way most parents dreamed their kids could manage.

Erin had never fully left. Hank understood why. She was reluctant to give up her space in the family. Fearful that if she did she might lose her status in their home – and their lives. That it was the first safe – welcoming – space she'd had in her life. That she still wanted it there now – some place she knew she could go back to – even now at 29 years old.

He'd never argued with her about it. He'd never said a thing about it. Especially after Camille was gone. It was just another part of the house – her house – that he wanted to maintain. Erin could leave her things there – or at least what was left of them – as long as she wanted. And, she had – so much to the point that the room was still referred to as hers. So much so that his son looked so grossly uncomfortable to be in the space without her permission.

"Take this," Hank told him and held out the bottle, knocking two tablets into his hand. Ethan gazed at them for a moment but then moved and took them with a sip of orange juice.

Really he'd just picked Erin's room because the bed was made. She still ended up sleeping there a handful of times a month. And, it wasn't full of boxes. But seeing Ethan's level of discomfort in there wasn't exactly a bad thing. And, despite there still being this-and-that-and-the-other thing from Erin's teens sitting around, it wasn't like the boys' room. Hank didn't want Ethan going through boxes or finding God knows what among Justin's things. Or even finding random little things that would give him some distraction and entertainment.

He was going to sit and he was going to think – and maybe he'd sleep. Those were about the three options that Hank was willing to allow.

"You're staying up here," Hank put to him. "In this room. I see any indication you were in yours and Justin's room or downstairs when I get back and you're going to be in an even deeper level of shit. And you're about up to here, Ethan," he said, waving his hand not even an inch from the top of his head."

"What if I need to take a leak," Ethan said. There wasn't tone to it but Hank knew there was tone to it.

"Do you want to be a smart ass or do you want me to go and get you a bucket?" Voight put right back to him.

Ethan looked away at that. So Hank just rocked on his heels and looked around the room one more time.

"OK," he sighed. "Ice those ribs. Twenty minute intervals." The boy gave him a pathetic look. "I'll be home by eight – unless something comes up." Ethan looked away from him at that. Voight could almost hear the monologue going through his kid's head – but decided not to fucking comment. "Try to rest," he pressed sternly and then stepped out and closed the door.

He looked at it. He could feel Ethan gazing at it on the opposite side. There was a part of him that almost wanted to open it and go and give his kid a hug. But that just wasn't him. The kid didn't need to be hugged with his ribs looking like that anyways.

He let out a slow sigh and looked down at the ground for a moment. Camille would know better how to fix this. Hell, this wouldn't even be happening in the first place if Camille was still fucking there.

He shook his head and turned, heading back for the stairs. It was easier to be at work. It was always easier to be at work.


	7. All You Need to Know

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Jay reached out and grabbed Erin's elbow just as she was about to exit the bullpen – breezing passed him like she hadn't even seen him.

"Hey?" he put to her and she gave him a questioning look, after first glaring at his hand on her and giving it a small yank away. "Not going to say bye?" he tried and gave her a small smile.

She adjusted her jacket and eyed him. "Bye," she put flatly.

Jay let out a sigh. She'd been acting off all afternoon. He didn't know why but he had some guesses. Though, guesses based on Ruzek's blabbering and nothing Lindsay had actually said.

"Look, some of us are going to go over to Molly's. Grab a drink. You wanna come," he offered.

She shook her head and made to leave again. His hand again came out to still her. "I've got things to do tonight, Jay," she pressed at him.

"What kind of things?" he put to her.

"You need my personal schedule?" she shot back to him sarcastically. She was definitely starting to look pissed off. But that was usually on the list of Erin's default emotions – or at least standardized glares.

"It's one beer," he said more firmly.

"I'm busy," she pushed back.

"Busy?" Jay asked harshly. "With what?" She just gave him that look. "With the kid Voight had you bring in here this morning?"

She sighed at him and gave him those eyes and then again yanked her arm away from his grip and moved to leave, heading for the stairs.

"I've got to go," she said.

Jay trotted after her, grabbing at the door and storming after her through the lobby, as she made a rapid retreat from the district.

"Erin, c'mon," he near begged as they got onto the street. "What the hell is going on? Ruzek said –"

She stopped and spun at him. "Ruzek needs to mind his own fucking business and learn to keep his mouth shut."

Jay just looked at her. He had thought they were doing good. He thought they could've been good. But Voight had put a stop to that too. Voight fucking owned her – and she let him. Why? Halstead didn't quite know. Not the details. Clearly she thought she was indebted to him. Sometimes it felt more like Voight was just her pimp. She was his bitch. He'd heard her referred to by guys outside the district as "Voight's girl". There was truth to it. But it was undoubtedly derogatory. And, it pissed him off because he knew Erin was so much more than that. She was a good cop. She deserved good things. But she covered up so much shit. And covered up so much shit for Voight in the process too.

"Ruzek said that you brought a kid in," he put back to her, making her to keep his eyes locked with her, "and that Voight took him out like an hour later. That he was gone for a while."

She sighed and looked away from him, gazing down the street. "Jay, it's not some conspiracy theory. We've got people in and out of there all the time."

"Not kids," he pressed.

She gave him a look. "Really? Jay how many of your CIs are still kids?"

He gave her a frown and cocked his head. "OK? So what? The kid is some new CI you've roped in? For what? What's his hook? Which gang? Which fucking case?"

She shook her head and turned, starting to walk again. "Just leave it alone, Jay."

"Ruzek said Olinsky seemed to know who the kid was and what the hell was going on," Jay spat a bit more angrily.

For an Intelligence Unit, sometimes he sure as hell felt like none of the intelligence got shared – at least not beyond the ruling elite. Voight's inner circle – and that usually just included Olinsky and Lindsay. The rest of them? He'd let them know when he felt like it – if he ever did. Then they were supposed to be at his beck and call in the interim. Supposed to just follow his lead unquestioningly. But their asses and badges and career on the line for him. And half the time Halstead didn't even know what he was putting his ass on the line for – for who. He couldn't figure Voight out. The guy was a fucking onion. And, he sure as hell wasn't convinced that he trusted him – or that he even liked him.

And, that just made things even more fucking complicated with Erin. To be her partner. To be her friend. To try to be something more. Not when 'dad' was over there laying down the law and looking over their shoulders. No man he'd ever dealt with had quite felt like the old man on the front porch with the shotgun as Hank Voight did. He so much looked at Erin the wrong way and Hank was breathing down his neck. He was surprised he even allowed them to partner up – to spend time in the car alone.

Halstead had baggage. But Erin had so much fucking more. And the thing was that some times it felt like Hank was walking alone next to her demanding that she not put any of it down. Or at least that was Jay's take on it. That day. Really, it'd been his take since Erin had decided they needed to cool it rather than tell Voight they were fucking. The problem was – it wasn't just fucking. Not to him. He didn't think it had been for her either. But she seemed to be able to walk away easier than he had. Because he thought it could be something – a real something.

Erin gave him a look again – almost like she thought he was pathetic. That she really just felt sorry for him.

"It's just Voight's son, Jay," she said. It sounded like she thought he was stupid.

He squinted at her. "What? No. Rozek would've recognized Justin. He said this kid was like maybe 13 – at the most."

"He's twelve," Erin put to him flatly. "He just turned twelve. This week."

He shook his head at her and ran his hand through his hair. "Wait. What?"

"It's not a secret, Jay," she said. "Not a conspiracy. Look at his file. Look back at clippings when his wife died. He's mentioned."

"He's mentioned?" Jay raised his voice at her. "I've been working with the guy nearly two years. With you. He's never mentioned a fucking twelve-year-old kid. You've never mentioned he had a kid at home still!"

"He hasn't been at home," Erin said flatly. "Hank's had him up in broading school. Since Justin … got into trouble."

"You mean since Voight got himself in trouble," he put right back to her.

She just glared at him. "How often does he say anything about Justin?"

"We know that guy exists!" he nearly found himself shouting.

"How's Ethan's existence anyone's business but Voight's?"

Jay gave her an exasperated look. Erin just crossed her arms.

"Ever think that maybe he doesn't want people to know he exists? Look at Antonio. How often does he talk about his kids? Remember what happened to his son?"

"So what?" Jay pressed. "Now the kid's what? Home for summer vacation? And our sergeant is going to be MIA –"

"He's not MIA," Erin barked back at him. Her voice was raised and she was clearly agitated at that point.

"He's distracted," Halstead said. "He was gone for like two hours today. Just gone. He left Olinsky in charge!"

She shrugged. "Al knows what he's doing."

"You weren't in that interrogation this afternoon. Olinsky excels in the cage. In the interrogation room …," he shrugged at her.

She just shook her head and started walking again. He took three long steps to catch up to her and started storming beside her at her set pace.

"So what's your involvement in all this?" he asked.

She gave him a glance. At first it was annoyed but he saw that somehow that one had rattled her.

"What do you mean?"

"You're the one who brought the kid in. You're 'busy' tonight. Too 'busy' for one drink. So what? Now are you Voight's babysitter after-hours too?"

She glared at him. "Fuck off, Halstead."

He cocked his head at her. "Hank's kid isn't your problem," he said. "Let him deal with it. Or let him fuck himself over if he doesn't know how to manage. They'll put someone else in –"

"Intelligence is Hank's unit," Erin barked at him and glared with an intensity that he usually only saw her direct toward perps. "He can manage his work and he can manage his kid. And – if he needs some help in that – then we'll all fucking help him. How many times has he covered any of our asses when we've run late or had to slip out? Don't turn this into some sort of bullshit argument about you can't do the job and have a family. Antonio and Al both have kids too."

"Dawson is getting divorced and never sees his fucking kids. And, Olinsky lives in his garage."

Erin shook her head in annoyance. "He and his wife are patching things up. He's in the garage so he can be around for Lexi. He's a good dad."

"Yeah? And Voight's a good dad? He's got one kid who's a convict and another that no one knows exists?"

Erin crossed her arms – coming to an abrupt stop and blocking the path on the sidewalk – specifically to him but really to anyone who was trying to get by.

"What do you know about good dads, Jay? You aren't a dad – and your dad? When's the last time you talked to him?" she asked and cocked her head giving him those pouted lips that usually just made him want to kiss her. Or slug her. Sometimes he couldn't decide. But she definitely made him shut up.

"Hank knows how to parent," she said. "You might not like the way he parents – but it's none of your fucking business anyways. It's Hank's business. And, my 'involvement' is none of your business either. What you need to know is that Hank is like family to me – and that means Ethan is family too."

She turned and started to walk away. This time she wasn't moving nearly as fast but it was still clear that he wasn't supposed to follow her and he suspected that this time if he did it would be more than tone and attitude he'd be getting.

"Why are you so indebted to him, Erin?" he called after her.

She didn't turn back. "You still don't want to know the answer to that."

"Yeah! I do!" he called.

She glanced over her shoulder. "Family, Jay," she said firmly. "That's all you need to know."


	8. Big, Bad, Dad

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Hank rapped his fist on the top of the car above the open door on the passenger side.

"C'mon, let's go," he barked. But it was a useless exercise. Ethan barely even managed a mumble through his sleep – let alone showed anything that remotely resembled stirring to wake.

He ran his tongue over his front teeth and thought for a moment. He was seriously considering beating the top of the car harder or giving the kid a good shake. Maybe reaching and grabbing the stale cup of coffee sitting in the cup holder and dumping it over him to see if that would give the kid a start. But as he glanced across the street he could see the light on in Mrs. Polzanski's living room and the old broad gazing out at him in her nightgown and rollers.

Part of him didn't really care what she saw or thought. She got enough of a show being a busy-body and staring out that window at their house all the time over the years. The woman likely more belonged in the Intelligence Unit than he did. Though, she was far from covert. But somehow knowing she'd already witnessed Justin's escapes during his teens while staring and judging through that window didn't make him want to give the old bat any more fodder. The bitch might do her best to make his life more complicated and miserable now that Camille was gone. With Camille around the batty bitch assumed that the tender mother's touch would save Justin from him ripping into him too badly. Poor little Ethan wouldn't have that and the fucking woman might decide his tough love was too tough and she was going to send child's services knocking. He didn't need to deal with more fucking bureaucrats who didn't know shit about shit.

Besides, Ethan had been through the fucking wringer that night. It almost made Hank feel like he didn't need to punish him. Almost. But that wouldn't be his style. But still, the kid hadn't exactly had a walk in the park at the hospital. It wasn't no in-and-out visit. X-rays, stitches, mended ribs and a CT scan later – they'd finally been allowed to go home. It was nearly 2 a.m. And that was a long time in the hospital for Ethan.

Ethan and hospitals didn't work anymore. It wasn't like he became a sobbing little baby putting on a show for everyone. He just shut down. His anxiety went through the roof and the way he coped with it was to completely check out. His kid would get that glassy eyed look where he might as well be sprawled across the pavement again with his head cracked apart like a fucking watermelon and his face like ground beef – bleeding out. That look that the life was his youngest was just slipping right out of him.

And what could Hank expect? The kid saw his mother die. Exactly how much he remembered of that – unclear. But he'd been there. And he'd somehow been conscious for parts of the whole fucking ordeal. Sirens. The smells of antiseptic. It fucked with the kid's head. And after months of him being in the hospital after they pieced his head back together and grafted his face back in place and some how coaxed his brain to function like he was almost a whole boy again – what more could Hank really ask for? Thing was – they hadn't given him back a whole boy. He wasn't a whole man anymore. And, they sure as hell hadn't sent him back to a whole family.

Ethan hadn't been all there the longer he'd had him at the hospital. Really, taking him in there likely counted as a big part of his punishment. It'd certainly fucked him up more. Problem was seeing him like that fucked up Hank too. Didn't matter how pissed off he was at the fucking kid – it was still his kid. Hank had finally barked at enough nurses that they'd given Ethan a sedative to calm him down some while they sat out the night of waiting for imaging and doctors and then crap bits of tape and glue that Voight likely could've accomplished on his own at home.

Thing was between the sedative and the painkillers they'd eventually pumped his kid full of – they'd managed to completely conked him out. He was a fucking zombie now. Actually, more like a retarded bag of flour. He was basically non-responsive. If anything it was a fucking argument for just how far away he was going to need to keep this kid away from screwing around with pharmaceuticals. And considering the drugs that some of these so called doctors and shrinks pushed at him to get his son to take to "cope" – Ethan was likely definitely going to be the type that him fucking stoning himself out of his head on pills was more than a possibility. He should take some fucking video and pictures now just so show him how fucking retarded he was on them – and this was a doctor-sanctioned minimum dose that Hank had given his blessing for. He wouldn't be doing that again. The kid could tough out the rest of the pain after these pills wore off. He got himself into the shitter – he could suck it up until the aches passed. Maybe it'd serve as a good reminder of exactly what a shithead he could be. Though, he doubted it. Ethan's memory and attention span only worked so well. And not all of that could be blamed on his fucking brain injury.

He looked at his sleeping kid. Another problem with taking the kid to the hospital and then knocking him out with sedatives and pain killers – it made him look like such a fucking little kid. And, half the time at the hospital, all Hank could see was that fucking seven-year-old who's life hung in the balance while his wife's body was lying cold in the next room.

"Ethan, c'mon. Wake up," he mumbled at boy one more time. He'd pretty much accepted that outside of slapping him around a bit to get him to regain consciousness, the kid was out.

He sighed and bent into the car, reaching over the kid to unclip the seatbelt. Ethan finally stirred a bit.

"Dad …?" he mumbled.

"Yeah?" Hank asked, casting him a look as he unhooped the seatbelt from holding his kid supposedly safely in place. He didn't want to get into how long it'd taken to get his son to actually sit in a car again.

"We are me?" Ethan muttered.

"Where are we?" Hank put back to him a little annoyed. "We're home. You going to get up for me?"

Ethan just made a mumbling sound again and shifted in the seat, squirming away from him and settling, almost curling into a fetal position in the seat. Though he winced a bit at the movement and unfolded, settling again. He hadn't even opened his eyes during any of it. Hank didn't think he was actually awake. He was just talking in his sleep.

"OK, fine," he muttered right back at the kid and leaned back into the car again. "You're going to have to help me out here a little, Ethan," Hank told him. He knew he was talking to himself. "I'm not quite the spring chicken that you seem to want to think I am."

The kid just made another murmur. It hardly counted as a response. So Hank just ignored it and gently managed to pull the kid out of the seat and to his chest. He was like a fucking rag doll. Just dead weight.

"Dad?" Ethan stirred a little again.

"Yeah, it's dad," Voight muttered and put his hand over the top of his son's head while he guided him out of the car. "Let's watch your head."

He ducked back inside one more time to retrieve the bottle of pills from the dash. Though, he didn't think he'd be doling out anymore to his son even though he'd been handed a few day supply to get Ethan through the hump while he started mending up.

As he straightened, he juggled Ethan around at his hip a bit, trying to find a decent way to hold him.

"You're lucky you're at some kind of growth deficit, Magoo," he told the kid a bit more quietly as he managed to adjust him into a reasonable hold that he'd be able to carry him into the house. He reached and batted the door shut. It slammed and Ethan stirred against him again. "Because you're too old for this," he added, as he started walking him up the steps. "And too big. You want proof? Your sister wouldn't even be doing this for ya. She'd grab your ear and haul your ass inside on your own two feet."

Ethan just let out another muttering at that, and rubbed his cheek sleepily against his shoulder.

"Hmm," Hank allowed, as he again juggled Ethan and pulled his keys out of his pocket to jiggle the lock of the front door open. "That so? And I'm big, fucking bad, mean, scary Dad, right? Carrying a fucking twelve-year-old in from the car? You're babied, Magoo."

He didn't even get a muttered acknowledgment at that. He didn't need one. Babied or not – he was ready to just get the kid inside and into bed too.

He locked the door, stomped up the stairs and entered Erin's bedroom. Again, he supported Ethan's head and he lowered him onto the mattress. The kid made another muttering of acknowledgement at the shifting positions and curled slightly, only to wince again and roll back to his back.

Hank reached and leveraged off his two shoes, tossing them to the ground.

"Dad …?" Ethan mumbled again. "Are we home?"

"Yea," Hank allowed, not even looking at him this time. He instead just reached and whipped off the kid's socks.

"What time is it?" Ethan asked slightly more awake sounding. Hank glanced up at him to see him rubbing at his eyes like an overtired baby.

"It's bedtime," he rasped at him. "Go back to sleep."

The kid made another half-conscious sound and again rolled onto his side to again realize his mistake and straight back out on his back. Only this time he actually gripped at his side when he did and gazed up at Voight under heavy eyelids.

"Am I grounded?" he asked.

Hank glared at him for a beat and then took his index finger and flicked it sharply against the top of one of his son's naked feet. Ethan let out a small yelp and looked at him even more awake and a little pained.

"Don't ask fucking stupid questions," Hank told him. Ethan just blinked at him through hi sleepy gaze. Voight seriously doubted in the morning he'd even remember they'd exchanged any sort of words. "Unbutton," he ordered and gave a small nod at the kid's fly.

It seemed to take him too long to clue in but he finally did and clumsily undid his fly. Hank grabbed at the legs of the kid's jeans and shook them like Ethan really was a rag doll. The jeans whipped off loudly. Ethan's body bucking slightly with the movement and him letting out a more apparent sound of some pain.

Hank offered no comment to that. He just turned and draped the jeans over a rocker in the room. It'd been a gift from Camille to Erin on her sixteenth birthday. It was the kind of thing that she was supposed to keep – have with her for always. Erin hadn't wanted to take it until she got settled into a 'real' job and a 'nice' apartment. By the time that happened Camille was gone and now Erin seemed to think she wasn't allowed to take it all – despite it being hers. So it sat there. He'd get her to take it some day. He just wasn't going to do battle with her about it now. He'd save it until when she really did settle down more. When she had a baby to rock in it. If she didn't come and get it on her own accord then.

He turned back around to his son and walked to the head of the bed, yanking down the blankets.

"Get under," he ordered. "You're going to be cold."

Ethan gazed at him for a moment but then scrambled under the covers.

"You going to sleep in that hoodie?"

Ethan shook his head but looked at him still seeming beyond confused. Voight just gave him a look – a figure it out look – and eventually Ethan clued in and tried to pull the shirt over his head. But he grunted in agony and fumbled and Hank ended up reaching over and somewhat gently pulling it around the tangle of his arms that he could barely lift on the one side.

With the shirt removed, he looked at his son, reaching to tilt his head slightly and to look into his bleary eyes. He did give his cheek a gentler tap at that.

"You want ice or you OK?" Ethan just stared at him confused – and Hank decided not to clarify. He wasn't in enough pain that it was clicking what was being said, so he likely wasn't in enough pain to need ice. "OK, rest," Hank ordered flatly and moved to leave the room, dropping the sweatshirt on the rocker as he went.

He was almost to the door when Ethan finally spoke. "So what happens?"

Voight gave him a glance. "Just sleep it off, Ethan. You'll feel better in the morning."

"But what happens?" he stuttered.

"They just gave you some medicine to help you get through the night, kid."

"Because I'm grounded?"

Hank let out an annoyed breath and turned back around to really look at the kid. He was settled into the bed but looked just as stoned and confused as before. There wasn't any conversation to be had.

"Because I took you to the hospital, Ethan. Because you went and got the crap beaten out of yourself."

"So I'm grounded?"

"Yes," Voight provided sternly.

Ethan blinked at him. "How?"

"We'll talk about that when you're fucking coherent."

The kid's eyes squinted. "Is Justin grounded?"

Voight sighed and shook his head. "Go back to sleep, Ethan," he said and reached for the doorknob.

"He fought," Ethan added flatly but there was an unsureness about it. Maybe he was trying to figure out if he was awake or in a dream.

"Your brother is not who you want to be emulating in this family," Voight muttered and pulled the door open.

"Dad?" was asked behind him.

"What?" Voight sighed with some thinly concealed anger.

"Are you real mad?"

"Yes," he provided without looking at the kid.

A silence hung and Voight was about exit when at a near whisper Ethan let out, "I'm sorry."

Voight let out a slow breath – exhaling through his nose and turned. He went back to the bed and cupped Ethan's cheek. This kid. All his fucking kids. They drove him fucking insane. They were the bane of his existence more days than not. He wondered what the fuck he and Camille were thinking? Kids? With his job? Justin they didn't know what the fuck they were doing – and that fucking showed. Erin came to them as a fully developed person in her own way. They could only do so much. They did something. That much was clear. Did they do good by her? That was open to debate. But Ethan? What the fuck were they thinking? Having another kid in their 40s? They weren't thinking. He wasn't planned. He just happened. And he was their baby. Raising kids was supposed to be old hat with him. No worries. Been there done that. But Ethan was too fucking soft compared to Justin and Erin. He was like some fucking foreign little creature half the time. Voight didn't know what to do with him. And then he'd look at him – and there were Camille's eyes staring right at him. And what the fuck was he really supposed to do with him then?

"Dad, I feel really weird. I don't feel good," Ethan said while he examined him.

Voight just gave him a nod. "You're tired. You're hurt. You've got meds in your system. You're going to sleep. I'll check on you. You'll be fine. And we'll talk about the rest of it tomorrow."

"But I'm sorry," Ethan said meekly.

"I know," Voight allowed and gave him a small pat on the cheek but then moved away from him. "But sorry doesn't cut it, Magoo. Go to sleep. You need it."

He moved and exited the room – pulling the door shut behind him. He could hear a quiet sob behind it – but made himself ignore it. He didn't heed tears too often. Though, he knew that the crying would only cause the pain in the kid's ribs to wreck havoc even more. If he sent himself into a coughing fit with it – he was going to be in agony. But Voight would let him figure that out on his own.

Sometimes stepping back from his kids – letting them deal with their own mistakes – was the hardest part of being a father. Yet, it seemed to have become a part of parenthood that he'd had to become all too familiar with. To practice too much.

He wished he didn't.


	9. Pusher

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

"Aren't we a cheery bunch this morning," Erin heard graveled at them and looked up from where her and Ethan had been smiling and sharing a quiet laugh while gazing at a music video on her phone's screen.

Hank stood in the kitchen entry – dressed in the same standardize outfit as always, hands on his hips and already scowling. He definitely wasn't in a cheery mood that morning.

But Ethan apparently wasn't entirely intimidated by it that morning. "Erin has all these old CDs in her room," he provided. She thought the kid might still be a little doped up from whatever the hospital had given him to not be reading the facial expressions on Hank that clearly indicated he didn't care the context of what they were actually doing in that moment – he simply completely didn't approve that they were doing it. Or likely much of anything.

"You aren't supposed to be going through her things," Hank barked.

Erin sighed and sat back a bit in her chair. "I don't care, Hank," she said flatly.

What did she have in there that Ethan couldn't see? What would've she ever had in their that anyone couldn't see? Her teens had operated on an open door policy. And the space had been tossed more than once – more like once a month – while she'd lived there. At least until she'd established a long enough streak of keeping out of trouble and walking a straight edge. She'd never been stupid enough to keep anything in the room that she didn't want Hank to see.

Maybe she didn't want Ethan to see some of the CDs. Solely because some of it was more than a little embarrassing. But she really didn't care he was looking at them – or touching them, or even if he wanted to listen to them or have them. What the hell did she need CDs for now anyways? Who still bought CDs? Who listened to them? Let them be a novelty for Ethan. She didn't need them. They'd been sitting there collecting dust for a reason.

"I wasn't going through her drawers or anything," Ethan provided a bit more cautiously. "They were on the bookshelf."

"Don't touch your sister's things," Hank spat again but apparently decided to leave it at that. Erin just rolled her eyes – after Voight turned his back to go to the counter and pour a cup of coffee that she had gotten going for him.

Hank had still been passed out when she'd gotten there. Good. With the bedroom door open – still in his clothes and with a bottle at his bedside. It'd clearly been a late night. Ethan had only provided that they'd gotten home 'real late' from the hospital when he'd heard her moving around the upstairs and stirred. It didn't really matter what time they'd gotten in – Voight had clearly been up later and working on dulling his own pain and adding fuel to his anger. He was going to be grouchier than fuck that day. Coffee was a necessity.

"There's milk and cereal," Erin provided to him. "And bread that's not a source of penicillin."

Hank cast her an annoyed look.

"She knew you wouldn't have any food here," Ethan mumbled through a mouthful of cereal. Erin raised her eyebrow at him and tapped a finger against her lips to get him to hush up. Sometimes Ethan hadn't quite learned when to keep his mouth shut and what things he shouldn't say – or shouldn't be repeating.

She glanced up to find Voight's eyes. He was drilling them into the back of Ethan's head – and the boy had apparently felt it, because he'd hunched closer to his bowl and sunk lower in his chair, shoveling some more of his breakfast into his mouth like he knew this was going to be a limited engagement.

"Mmm," Voight allowed and eyed her – clearly unimpressed with the grocery offerings or at least how she'd phrased it to Ethan when she'd unpacked the few things into the empty fridge and cupboards. "Who told you you're allowed downstairs?" Hank directed at his son.

Ethan cast him a downcast glance over his shoulder. The timidness was setting in again. Apparently the cheeriness of the moment had been pretty short-lived now that Voight was up and about. Erin had sort of hoped that the worst of whatever disciplining and punishment and arguments and intimidation factor would've passed by the morning. That she'd just be walking into helping build Ethan back up a bit and keep Hank from getting too unduly angry – again – but it didn't quite look like they'd reached that point yet after all.

"I did," Erin provided for Ethan, glaring right back at Hank.

"Mmm," he nodded. "Since when do you get to make the rules in my house?"

Erin sighed at him and crossed her arms. "He's just eating some breakfast, Hank."

"Mmm," he allowed again and walked around the counter to the table and looked at them, gesturing at where she'd set her phone on the table with his arrival. "And using your phone?"

Erin cocked her head at him and let out an annoyed breath. But Ethan again seemed to perk up a bit at that.

"We were watching music videos from songs when Erin was twelve," he said with an edge of excitement to his voice. "They're so bad."

"They aren't that bad," Erin put back to him with a gentle smile.

"They're bad!" Ethan said with a bit more firm excitedness. "Some of the music is OK but the videos are SO BAD." He smiled a bit at her. "The Beastie Boys! Intergalactic! That was epically bad."

"You mean epically awesome," Erin teased.

"Fatboy Slim! Limp Bizkit!"

"Don't mock Limp Bizkit, Little Man," Erin said with a smile tugging a bit more at her mouth.

"Dad! Diddy was still around then. But was called …" he looked at Erin for a moment. "Puffy Daddy!"

He looked up at Hank clearly seeking some sort of approval or acknowledgement for that statement - but Voight was just giving her that downcast look and chewing on whatever cud he'd already stuck in his mouth that morning and apparently wanted to mix with the black coffee that she wasn't sure he'd even touched yet.

"He's not supposed to be on the phone or internet," he stated.

Erin kept eyes. "He wasn't. I was on my phone and my data plan."

"Yours or the city's?" Hank put back to her flatly.

Erin gave him disapproving eyes. He was being so fucking ridiculous. She got it. Ethan was in trouble. That he was obviously grounded – that ever possible form of entertainment and enjoyment had been stripped from him. But they really need to make this some sort of fucking statement for now … until … when?

She reached for her phone, pulled it off the table, shoved it into her pocket and again crossed her arms and kept her stare on him. He didn't scare the living shit out of her like he did Ethan. She could do the Mexican stand-off. He didn't want Ethan touching her phone – fine. Point taken. She thought he was being as much of a hard-ass as ever – but she wasn't going to push it with Ethan sitting right there. Because it'd ultimately be him who was going to take the brunt of any of their disagreement. And the harsh reality was that as much as Erin disapproved for some of Voight's decisions with Ethan – it was him who won, because it was his son.

With the phone now gone, and Ethan cowering a bit lower at the table, trying to scoop out the last remnants of milk and avoid eye contact with both of them, Hank pulled out one of the chairs and sat down. He set his coffee down, pulled the extra bowl toward him and shook some of the open box of cereal into it.

"Go get your backpack," Hank ordered, as he reached for the milk.

Ethan eyed him sullenly for a moment but then got up from the table and disappeared. Erin gave Hank another look but he was doing his usual dismissive posture – acting like ensuring all his cereal was evenly soaked in the milk was somehow very important.

Ethan returned and plopped the backpack on the corner of the table next to his father's elbow. Hank didn't look at him either – continuing to level off his cereal.

"I going to find anything in there I'm not going to like?" he put flatly.

Ethan just kept standing, his hands fidgeting as he gazed at the ground. Erin glared at him too. He wouldn't be so fucking stupid, would he? And what could a barely twelve year old kid who'd just spent nearly two years exiled to the boondocks in a locked-down boarding school really have on him? Erin wasn't sure she wanted to know. She sighed and shook her head, looking away. Maybe she shouldn't have come. She wasn't sure she wanted to witness this.

"You really need to think about it that long?" Hank asked and cast Ethan a look.

Ethan let out a slow breath – like the slower he exhaled the longer he might be able to preserve himself from feeling his father's wrath. But then he reached and undid one of the zippers –his hand disappearing inside and then remerging to hold a red and white box out to his father.

Hank grabbed it harshly from him and pointed an index finger back at the vacant chair. "Sit!" he ordered and then tossed the box over to it landed in front of Erin.

She gazed at the open pack and Marlboros and then snatched it up herself and flipped open the top looking inside. He'd put a good dent into that pack.

"You're smoking?" she demanded across the table, her voice raised possibly to a louder level than Hank's. Ethan gave her a sad glance from where he'd set on examining his hands in his lap. She leaned forward and rapped the box hard against his forehead. "You doofus. How are you going to play baseball if you're smoking?" she glared at him. But he just kept looking down. Erin shook her head.

"You guys smoke," Ethan muttered at a near whispered level.

Hank leaned into his space. "Yea, I smoked and you think I sounded like this the day I was fucking born, kid." Ethan gave him a small upward glance. "You know if this was twenty years ago and I didn't know what shit one – ONE! – of these fucking things," he said and grabbed the box from Erin, shoving it into his son's face, "does to your lungs, I would be dragging you out back and you'd be smoke this whole fucking carton until you were green." Ethan tried to slouch away from him but Voight leaned in closer. "You think you'd be coughing? You coughed yet this morning? How do your ribs like that?" He reached out his arm and pressed a thumb into his son's ribs and Ethan's face flushed and he squirmed.

"Dad …" he whimpered but Hank's hand stayed pressed there. His face was flushed and angry too.

"Hank …" Erin interjected when even she could feel the discomfort of the minor assault Voight had on his son.

He slowly sat back, crunching the cigarette box in his hand and tossing it at Ethan. It bounced off him and landed on the floor.

"Don't be such a fucking idiot," Hank said flatly and looked back to his cereal as Ethan continued to cower, gazing even more red faced at the floor. "There anything else?" He barely gave Ethan a beat to reply. "IS THERE ANYTHING ELSE? You know how I feel about repeating myself."

Ethan seemed to tremble and his head slumped even lower.

Erin sighed. "Hank, c'mon, you've already gone through the bag. Just—"

"She's right," Voight interjected, still glaring at Ethan. "So you want to tell her what else I found in there."

Ethan's shoulders slumped even more. It looked like he wanted to crawl completely inside himself and just disappear. Erin felt for him. But her own anger at him was mingling with it – and just disappointment that he'd be so stupid. On so many levels. That he'd bring those kinds of things home. That he'd think he'd get away with it without his father finding it. That he was stupid enough to be smoking already as it was. That he'd been stupid enough to get in a fight and be expelled in the first place. Just all of it. But she didn't need to watch him get drilled into the ground.

"Hank-" she tried again.

He held a palm up at her to shut her up immediately and leaned closer to Ethan's space again.

"Am I going to have to repeat myself again?" Hank spat.

Ethan shook his head but remained silent.

"Then you tell your sister what you were stupid enough to bring into my house," he said, the spittle of the statement spraying in his son's direction.

"Weed," Ethan whispered.

"I can't hear you," Hank pressed.

"Weed," Ethan said more firmly and cast his dad a hurt look that was just starting to seethe with anger.

Hank's hand went into his pocket and he tossed an evidence bag to the center of the table that contained two already rolled joints. He gave Erin a look.

"He's carrying on the little family tradition," he said flatly. "I've got another kid that I'm going to be running fucking drug tests on. But this is a new record," he said. "Twelve and already pissing in a cup."

Erin sighed and looked away again. She didn't really want to revisit the negative aspects of her teens. She didn't want to think about some of the harder parts of spending her teens in Hank's household. She preferred to focus on the positive – that she'd been given somewhere safe to stay. That she had people who cared about her. That she'd had the opportunity to turn her life around and because of that she had a life right now—she was still around and now able to help others, help her city. She didn't want to think about some of the humiliating tests and hoops she'd been put through to earn that privilege – to have Hank's trust.

But now she was going to get to relive some of it as she watched her baby brother go through it. Because he hadn't seemed to have learned from her mistakes or Justin's mistakes. He'd decided to just make them all on his own. She didn't know if that said anything about just how little the family talked about her past or covered up some of Justin's screw-ups. Or if it said more about Hank's parenting that for all his good intentions he'd brought up three troubled kids – who got into trouble. She supposed the real test was how they got out of trouble and what they contributed as adults. She liked to think that her and Justin were working their way toward redemption in those areas. That Ethan would too. He was just at the age he was going to get in trouble and make mistakes. And, maybe if Hank could be around a little more and deal with things a little differently it would be the same kind of trouble or mistakes that her and Justin had stumbled through.

"We were just going to try—" Ethan started.

"Just going to try?" Hank yelled that time. "Do you think I just went through your backpack? There was a whole lot more than try in your duffle."

Ethan's head sunk more.

"Ethan …" Erin sighed.

She didn't know what to say. It was just pot. But he was twelve. Fuck. He'd JUST turned twelve. And knowing his dad? And knowing he was coming home already in shit? What the fuck was he thinking? And then there were the considerations of what it all meant for a kid like Ethan? His brain was a little fried enough as it was. He didn't need extra help to become some sort of burnout. Though, he likely wanted extra help to numb himself to reality. She could relate to that. But she didn't really want him to have to go through that.

"You know what I didn't find in your bags?" Hank demanded.

Ethan gave a small headshake.

"All your medication," Voight said flatly.

"They keep it at the nursing station," Ethan said quietly.

"Mmm," Voight said and puckered while he sat back in his chair and examined the top of his son's head again for a moment. "I call the school that where they're going to tell me it is?"

Ethan glared his nostrils a bit and gave his father a glance. Hank eyed him and then lifted his one ass cheek, reaching behind him and tossing and envelop on the table. Erin stared at it and he gestured to it.

"Go ahead," he said. "Look. Do some detective work. Piece together what your baby brother is up to."

Erin gave Voight a sideways glance but put her hand out and retrieved the envelope. She didn't really need to open it to know what was in it. But she did need to look to be able to count it. There was easily $400 inside – all in small bills.

"It's a funny thing, Ethan," Voight said. "With you being twelve and at boarding school in the middle of fucking no where. When I haven't signed the fucking forms to give you off-campus privileges. When I send you … what is it?"

"Twenty-five dollars," Ethan said quietly.

Voight nodded. "Twenty-five bucks. A month," he agreed and gave Erin a look. "Give you enough privilege to get some things at the tuck shop. To share a pizza with your buddies once and a while."

"I save the money," Ethan provided.

Hank grabbed the envelope and shoved it's opened in his son's face. "That's a lot of saving there, Ethan," he said.

Ethan gave a small shrug. "The tuck shop sucks," he mumbled. "And I don't like pizza."

Voight let out a snort and sat back in the chair again. He eyed Ethan but the boy refused to make eye contact. Erin couldn't decide if that was smart or not. She knew how hard it was to keep eye contact with Voight when he was pissed off. When you knew you'd screwed up. When you'd disappointed him. When you were still a kid and scared of him. His looks of disappointment were enough to shake you themselves. Add in the fear? And keeping his eyes was next to impossible. Still as an adult she struggled to keep eyes with him at times.

"How connected are the fight, your missing meds and that wad of cash?" Voight finally asked after silence had hung uncomfortably around their little dysfunctional family table. But the silence just hung there again. "Are we going to review again about how I feel about saying things twice?" Voight said evenly.

Ethan shook his head.

"You going to answer my question?"

Ethan shook his head again.

Voight let out a slow breath as he eyed the kid. His voice was much flatter – calmer, evener at that point. He'd done his usual build up to the terror and now he was letting it fade out. They all knew who the loser was in this scenario. Though, Erin thought Ethan might be smarter to resolve it now rather than wait until later. But she supposed that was something he could deal with and figure out on his own.

"When's the last time you took your meds?" Hank asked.

"I hate them," Ethan said quietly but with clear anger.

"That's not what I asked," Voight pressed.

The stillness sat in the kitchen again for several beats until Ethan finally shrugged.

"What's …" Voight did his own shrug, "mean?"

Ethan cast him a small glance.

"Days? Weeks? Months?" Voight pressed.

Ethan looked away again and Voight just let out a long sigh.

"You're done you're breakfast," he finally directed and gestured away from the table. "Go."

Ethan gave her a little glance like she might somehow save him from being sent away again – but Erin just shook her head at him. He let out a small noise but rose from the table and trudged out of the room.

"This time stay up there until I tell you you can come down," Voight called at him, eyeing her as did.

Erin did keep eyes with him at that point. Maintaining it until she heard the door to her bedroom door close.

"He's not using, Hank," she said. "At least not pharm. And, pot? C'mon."

He looked at her with disappointment that was clearly exclusively directed at her now. "No, I've just got a twelve-year-old pusher dealing at a fucking elite private school. That's better, right, Erin? You've got some experience there. This seem like Grade A behavior to you? A nice wholesome path for my son to be on?"

She sighed and looked away from him at that. She didn't need him to remind her about what her life had looked like when she was Ethan's age. She knew what she was doing – and why. She knew that she had five charges against her by the time she was fourteen – and that was the only the times she got caught. She could fully speculate all the avenues she might've gone down in Hank hadn't stepped in. But she didn't need him to make her feel bad about her past. She regretted enough about it as it was. She knew she was one of the lucky ones – that she'd been given the opportunity to go down a different fork. Not everyone got that. At least not in the same way she did.

"He hates the pills, Hank," she pressed instead.

He leaned across the table and glared at her. "He needs them," he put to her sternly and then rose from his seat.

"Hank, he didn't even like whatever it was the doctors gave him last night. And, that's when he's in actual pain," she pressed.

He glanced at her and picked up the evidence bag and the envelope off the table.

"This … this," he said, as he lifted each on and held them out at her. "In my house. Unacceptable."

He straightened moving toward the exit, already grabbing his leather jacket off the hooks in the hall.

"Lock up when you leave," he told her, even though he'd already disappeared from her sight. "Take up a new ice pack for him when you go coddle him."

Erin sighed at that comment – but they both knew that after he left that's where she'd be headed. And, the front door shut. She shook her head.

Somehow this was the better family? The family she wanted. It made her wonder what an actual normal family might look like. They'd seemed normaller when she was a kid. When it was her and Justin and Hank and Camille. When Ethan arrived and there was the excitement about a new family member and a baby brother.

These days they all just seemed like a royal clusterfuck. And one with way too much testosterone to be functional too.


	10. Structure

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Erin knocked on Hank's office door and gave him a look with crossed arms, waiting to get permission to enter but he didn't even look up from his paperwork.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" she finally asked when it became more than apparent he wasn't going to acknowledge her.

"Is it about Ethan?" he asked, still not so much as looking at her.

"Yes," she agreed flatly.

"No," Hank put back to her just as flatly.

She sighed and leaned against the door jam. He gave her a small glance when the minutes had ticked off long enough that it was just as apparent to him that she wasn't going to leave.

"You should have a pile of paperwork to do after this morning – that I want on my desk by the end of the day," he glared.

"Can I talk to you?" she put to him again.

"Is it about Ethan?" he pressed firmly – now clearly annoyed.

"Yes," she agreed again.

"No," he said even more firmly and gave her those eyes.

"Hank, it will only take a minute," she sighed at him.

He pointed out the door, gesturing with a single swipe of his finger at the bullpen. "This. Is not the place for my family business," he told her – giving her such intense eyes that she briefly considered backing down.

"Then let me come in and close the door," she said to him instead.

He glared at her, but she stepped inside, pulling the door shut behind her. She could see that Halstead was eyeing her entrance into the lion's den. Likely plotting to grill her again about everything the first chance he got. She'd managed to divert him in the morning. They had more pressing – immediate, work-related matters – to deal with, without him asking questions about her private 'family' life.

Hank looked at her as the door shut and then very purposefully looked at his watch. "One minute," he said.

She sighed and looked at him. But there wasn't any point in wasting time in one of their standoffs while she tried to get him to change that look on his face. Even talking was likely a waste of time.

"I know a guy who works for one of the city's day camp programs. I called him—"

Hank shook his head and went back to looking at his paperwork. "He's registered for camp already."

Erin crossed her arms. "You aren't seriously going to send him to sleep away camp now. With broken ribs?"

"It's good for him," Hank put flatly, now clearly not interested in her or the conversation at all.

"It's good for you," she spat and glared at him.

He eyed her, running his tongue along his front teeth as he did. "He needs structure," Voight put evenly – completely ignoring her comment. Not that he'd ever comment on that anyways.

Acknowledging she'd said it – acknowledging that there might be something behind it – that would be admitting that maybe he had some fucking failings as a parent. Maybe he put a little bit too much emphasis on work and not enough emphasis on his kids. And maybe he could get away with that when Camille was around to do all the heavy-lifting in the daily family life. But since she'd been gone? Since Hank had to manage Justin's teens and Ethan growing up? Well, it hadn't been very fucking pretty.

"So then give him some fucking structure, Hank," she spat at him just as vehemently. She was almost ready to throw her hands up at him. "What kind of 'structure' is he going to have at camp this year? With broken ribs? They won't let him do anything. He'll be sitting on the sidelines all summer."

Hank just shrugged again. "So maybe he should've put some thought into that previously. Action and consequence."

Erin put her hands on her hips and shook her head gazing at the ceiling. "You're un-fucking-believable."

Hank eyed her and then glanced again at his watch. "Your minute is up," he told her and picked up his pen, looking back to his forms again.

She just glared at him – even though she knew the conversation was done. Or at least his participation in it.

"It's not structure he needs, Hank," she spat out in angered staccato. "It's his father. And, right now – right fucking now – this might be one of the last chances you have to give that to him before he just … goes off the fucking deep end. Before he decides he doesn't want anything to do with you. That he really fucking hates you. Right now, he's still a little boy who –"

"Who is smoking, is holding - smoking up, and is selling his pharmaceuticals to –"

"SO FIX IT, HANK!" she yelled at him. His head came up at that and she could tell he was looking out the windows and she didn't doubt that heads in the bullpen had snapped to the office door as she raised her voice at him. "Don't send him away – again," she said a bit more evenly and much lower. "He's been gone almost two years. What's that accomplished?"

Hank rocked back in his chair, folding his hands across his navel but saying nothing. He rarely needed to. Those eyes told her how much shit she was in for how she'd talked to him. He wouldn't tolerate it as her father – and he certainly wouldn't tolerate it as her boss. Not that he'd directly say that. But the message in that rock and glare was meant to be more than enough.

She sighed and looked away from him. "You know what he asked me before I left the house this morning?" she asked quietly and gave him a small look.

She knew he didn't much care – that he didn't want to know. That he wanted her to leave. To stop putting their dirty laundry on display at work. But when the hell else would she be able to corner him? When would he ever let her have this conversation? He couldn't. He'd have her taking Ethan to the bus stop in two weeks and then that would be it. There wouldn't be any discussion. The kid would be off and gone again for God knows how long – and he'd just be drifting farther and farther from ever being able to settle and get the stability he needed to truly move on and mount something that resembled a normal life.

"He wanted to know if he said he wanted to be a cop too, if you'd like him then," she said flatly and gave him another look. "He knows, Hank. He knows that you help all these other kids get out of bad situations. You help them shift lanes. To start again. To have a whole new fucking life. A better one. You helped me. Why not your own son?"

She shook her head and examined her feet for a moment. "You know what the really sad part is? I know why," she said and gave him an angrier look. "I know you look at him and you see Camille and you—"

"That is not on the table for discussion," he rasped at her. His eyes were glinting with a real seething at that.

She let their gaze lock. Let them both share their anger at each other. Their anger at the whole situation.

"He blames himself, Hank," she told him quietly. "Worse – he thinks you blame him too." She shook her head and looked away. She hated getting emotional in front of Hank – and showing emotions in front of Voight rarely did anything to help the situation. "And – we both know it wasn't his fault. It's not his fault," she managed to get out but she could feel her voice crack as she said it. She hoped it hadn't been that audible to him – though she doubted it. Voight was an expert at seeing, hearing, feeling any and all signs of weakness. "He doesn't need to carry that through his life. He doesn't deserve that."

She let her eyes come back to his even though she could still feel that hers were glassy. She was still having to force herself – demand of her eyes – to keep the tears that were threatening to tumble out to stay in. She bit the side of her cheek – pressing her tongue there. He just kept giving her that stony look. Not speaking. Not participating. Waiting for her to leave.

"You keep asking me how I'm doing," Erin managed to press out. "You need telling me I'm distracted. You want me to say it now?" she asked and looked at him. Again he just stared back at her blankly, almost twiddling his thumbs. She wanted more than that but she knew better than to expect more.

"I'm hurting. I'm sad. I'm distracted. Nadia," she said and her voice cracked slightly again. She paused and looked down. "Teddy. Bunny being back. I'm struggling," she allowed and looked at him. "So if you won't do this for Ethan – than do it for me. I want him here this summer, Hank. I want to spend time with him. I want to help him – help you – try to turn this around. I don't want you to send him away. Again."

She gave him a final look. He was still giving her nothing. But she'd said what she needed to. As much as she could. Now it'd just be a matter of what he decided – even though she knew his mind was already made up before she even stepped into that room.

Still, she stepped forward and pulled a card out of her pocket, setting it in the centre of Hank's desk. He didn't even give it a glance – he still kept his eyes burning directly into her.

"Call him, Hank, please," she said quietly. "He can make a space open up for Ethan. But he needs some time to do it. Some incentive."

She let her eyes hold his for a moment but then she just allowed him a thin, defeated smile – that wasn't so much a smile as it was a grimace – and she wordlessly headed for the door, pulling it open and stepping out, ready to shut it behind her.

But then his usual line came: "Leave it open."

She let out a quiet sigh, her head hanging a bit. She knew that line spoke volumes too. Decision made. Conservation over. Intrusion noted and castration expected.

She let her hair fall to block her face as she trudged back to her desk. She didn't really want to see the questioning eyes from the others that she could feel looking at her. Though, they might be easier to deal with than the pleading eyes she'd get from Ethan the next time she saw him.


	11. Do the Math

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Voight rubbed at his temple as he heard his son quietly call him from the top of the stairs. He let out a sigh and gazed at the computer screen for a moment before acknowledging he'd heard the kid's voice.

"I don't remember telling you you could come out of that room," he called across the house.

There was silence for a moment but then Ethan said at a bit more audible level, "Can I come down?"

"No," Hank replied flatly.

The silence hung again.

"Are we going to eat dinner?"

Hank glanced at his watch. It was 9:30 p.m.. Later. "What do you think?"

The quiet again. "Can I just come get something?" he finally asked.

"I don't know, Ethan. Is the kitchen up there?" Hank said, leaning back in his chair.

He heard a shift. He knew that his son was now sitting at the top of the stairs. Sulking. Trying to piece together in that fucking kid head of his how to navigate this. But there wasn't anything to navigate. He'd fucked up. He was paying for it now. They had to tolerate each other for two weeks. Voight had to rearrange his fucking schedule to be a fucking babysitter for the next two weeks – and then Ethan could be someone else's problem. Thing was, though, that even when the kid was away – he was still his fucking problem. He got more fucking calls about that kid than he ever had with Justin and Erin combined.

"You're supposed to be in the bedroom – not sitting on the fucking stairs, Ethan," Voight barked.

He could feel the kid shift. Him fidgeting with the recognition he'd been caught and trying to decide if he was going to listen – to scurry back into the hole. But he didn't move. He likely thought moving would just confirm he'd again done something he wasn't supposed to.

"Is Erin coming?" he asked meekly.

"I'm not her personal scheduler."

Quiet hung again while Ethan processed that. As he took the time to come the realization that his sister wasn't likely going to be around that night to give him some mothering. To baby him. To make him feel not so badly about what he'd done. To bring him dinner and to give him distraction. To give him permission to laugh and smile. To tell him it'd be alright and that really deep down his dad loved him. That they'd work it all out.

No. Erin wouldn't be around that night. Voight was sure of that much. Not after the talk they'd had during the day. She was smart enough to know that right now she was on the shit list too. Though, Voight didn't much want to think about or reflect on her running commentary. Or listen to it.

"Maybe you could bring up dinner?" Ethan asked quietly after a long silence.

"Ethan! Go to bed!" Voight barked more sternly.

The quiet hung for a long moment. He could feel the sadness in his son radiating down the stairs. He just didn't have much tolerance for it at the moment. Regret? Repentance? He wasn't sure it really accomplished much of anything at this point.

What the kid really needed was for all hell to rain down on him. For him to get him into some kind of program. To put him into some sort of support group. To send him to the shrink and the behavioral therapist – again. Or to get his ass beaten. Fuck this shit about corporal punishment. Maybe all his kids would've done well with having the fucking strap taken to them once and a while. But he'd never raised a hand at any of them. Had he wanted to? To knock some fucking sense into them? That was a different story.

Maybe they would've actually been scared of him – would've actually fucking listened - if he'd slapped them around once or twice. For all Erin and Justin claimed he was so fucking intimidating. So fucking terrifying. They certainly hadn't shown that he'd been nearly fucking terrifying enough.

And, clearly he wasn't scaring his son that night. He heard the stairs creak and the quiet footsteps of Ethan trying to come down unnoticed. But Voight was already glaring at the entrance way of the living room when Ethan peeked around the corner at him.

"Did I tell you you could come down?"

His son looked at him glumly. "I'm real hungry, Dad," he said quietly. "I didn't come down at lunch like you said."

Voight just continued to stare at him. He wondered how long it would take this time for Ethan to get the point and retreat. But sometimes Ethan could be so fucking dense. He didn't think it was defiance like he'd seen in Justin. Justin was too much like him. Sometimes he didn't think it was the hot-headed stubbornness like he'd dealt with in Erin. It was just stupidity in Ethan. Or fucking brain damage. Sometimes the kid just couldn't read situations – let alone faces and emotions.

"What are you doing?" Ethan finally asked instead – apparently deciding that getting food was going to be a losing battle.

"Working," Voight put to him flatly.

Ethan stepped around the corner and eyed him a bit more – taking in the room. It might still be classified as the home's living room – but it hadn't much felt like that for a long time. Voight used it as a glorified office anymore. And even then it didn't get used that way much. He didn't have reason to go home – or to drag paperwork to do at home with him. He preferred to leave the work in the office – and to stay in the office as long as possible and as late as possible most nights. And, if he was done there, there was always the 'social club' he could go to to put in time rather than sit in his mausoleum to his life failures. He'd taken his eyes off his family too much over the years – and now this was what he got out of it. An empty house and dysfunctional kids. He should've known better than to think marriage and kids could be in his cards. That that made any sense for him. Not when his life was his city.

"I really was saving the money," Ethan said quietly, casting him a downward glance.

"I don't like being lied to," Voight put back to him. He didn't have the time or patience for that on the best of days. With Ethan that night? He'd already tested the extremes.

"I was," Ethan protested weakly. "I wanted to buy a PlayStation."

Voight leaned back in his desk chair and examined his son. The kid was such a fucking runt. Hank got that. He'd been a short kid. Wasn't exactly a tall man. But he'd learned how to hold himself. How to deal with it. How to make sure no one gave him shit – as a kid and as an adult – as a cop. Ethan didn't have the first clue how to do that. But he seemed to be a fucking expert at getting himself into situations. He just never fucking walked out of them as a victor.

"Twenty-five dollars. So let's pretend you didn't spend any of it. All fucking year," Hank said. "But we both know that's true. You know how I know that's not true?" he asked and looked at Ethan, who again diverted his eyes. "Because I get a fucking statement from the school every month about how you spend the money I put into your account." Hank spun his chair back to his desk and clicked around on his computer, opening up his email and then scrolling for a moment before loudly clicking the mouse again. "So let's take a look at … May." He gazed at the screen. "Doritos. Dollar fifty. Chocolate milk," he spat out. "Two dollars. … Chocolate milk. Two dollars. Chocolate milk. Two dollars." He gave his son a glance. "Should we be calling Erin and having her bring chocolate milk for you tomorrow morning?" Ethan's shoulders slumped. Hank looked back to the screen. "Track pants."

"I needed them for baseball tryouts," Ethan said quietly.

Hank gave him a look. "Mmm," he allowed. "Got a guess at how much those were?" His son just shook his head. "Thirty-nine dollars. Expensive 'track pants.'" Hank turned his chair back to look at the kid. "But let's pretend that you don't spend any of the money I send over for you. That you've saved that twenty-five bucks every month the whole school year. Now, I know you were pretty much failing math – despite me paying to get you a fucking tutor. But why not try to demonstrate for me what you might've learned at this fucking school that I paid a fucking arm and leg for you to go to and tell me, Ethan, if you didn't spend any – ANY – of the money I sent you. If we pretend that's true. How much money would you have saved up right now?"

Ethan cast him a small glance but then looked at the floor again. Hank rocked back in his chair again, folding his hands across his chest.

"Need some help figuring it out," he said flatly. "It's twenty five times the number of months you were at school. So … September …" he held up a finger to count of the months for him.

"I can do it," Ethan said angrily.

"Then tell me the answer," Voight said.

Ethan kept looking at the ground, scuffing his foot. Voight could see him fidgeting his fingers slightly as he clearly attempted to figure out the simple math. He must've managed to work it out in his head because it suddenly seemed to hang lower.

"You got it all figured out," Voight put back to him flatly.

Ethan cast him a small look. "Two hundred and twenty five," he said at a near whisper.

"So you can do math," Voight allowed. "And, you want to tell me how much money was in that envelope?"

Ethan flared his nostrils but looked up at him that time – his eyes burning. "Four hundred and thirty-two."

Voight gave him a nod. "Look at you. You know how to count too," he said drily and Ethan glared. "How much are these PlayStations?"

"Four fifty," his son spat at him.

Voight gave that a pucker and rocked a bit more. "You were almost there," he said. "Hey, you cut back on that chocolate milk and you could've had one already."

Ethan made a noise and looked away from him. He likely regretted coming downstairs at that point. The kid had balls. He seemed to think he could still get this to all blow over and come out of it relatively unscathed. At least with him. Maybe it was a good thing that some punks beat the shit out of him at school. Voight didn't get to do that. Let someone else. Too bad he had to fucking deal with the fallout from it all in the process.

"So, I'll ask you again, Ethan, where are your fucking medications?"

"I DIDN'T LIKE THEM!" Ethan yelled at him.

Voight just glared. "And, I don't fucking like having a fucking head case as a son," he said. "The doctor says you need the pills. You take the fucking pills."

Voight watched his boy. Even through the dim light he could see his son's eyes glassing at that. The gulping in his throat and the catch in his breathe.

"I'm not a head case," Ethan put back to him. He sounded about ready to cry.

Voight let out a small sigh at that and looked away. It'd likely been poor word choice. He felt a small sting of guilt. Guilt for the words but also a wave of pain about why and how they'd even become part of his vocabulary and thought process when it came to his child.

"I'm NOT CRAZY," Ethan yelled. "I'm not brain dead!" The tears did slip out at that point and the kid's hand smacked up to his face to feverishly wipe them away.

Voight watched him for a beat and then pointed at the couch. "Sit," he ordered. Ethan ignored him. "Sit the fuck down," he said more firmly.

Ethan stormed over to the couch and sat heavily on it – wincing as he did so. Then he buried the heels of his hands against his watering eyes.

"Stop that," Hank said.

"I'm not doing anything," Ethan blubbered.

Hank let out another annoyed sigh and rose from his chair, moving and setting himself down next to his son. He grabbed the wrist that was closest to him and pulled the hand away from the kid's face.

"Stop that," Hank said. "You're going to make it swell more."

Ethan yanked his wrist away from him and looked off in the opposite direction. "I'm not crying," he mumbled.

"No? Could've fooled me," Hank said, examining him.

"Stop looking at me," Ethan mumbled through the tears he was clearly trying desperately to hold back but wasn't doing a very good job.

"You're my kid," Voight said. "I'm allowed to look at you."

Ethan made a noise and just kept staring off into the corner, occasionally reaching up and swiping at another stray teary that defiantly slipped out of his eyes.

Hank just sat there. No saying anything. No trying to offer any sort of touchy-feely comfort that might make him think that everything was alright between them. But he was there. Next to him. He found that sometimes that was enough with kids. That that was what really counted in the end. Unfortunately he'd learned that through all the times he hadn't been there and all the shit that had slipped through the cracks because it. The bullshit that had slipped through the cracks yet again because of it.

"It's not like I sold the whole bottles all at once," Ethan finally muttered while still looking away from him. "I don't like the pills. Some people like them. So I just … saved them for later when I didn't take them."

"And you think selling them one at a time makes it better?" Hank said flatly.

Ethan gave him a small glance. There was a pleading look to it. This face was still streaked with the tears he'd missed. His swollen eye already looked more puffy from the way he'd been poking at it in his futile efforts to try to man up.

Hank sighed and leaned forward onto his knees, turning his head and examining the kid more.

"You know what really fucking scares me, Ethan?" he put to him. "That either the administration at that school is so fucking stupid that they didn't clue into this aspect of what was going on – or that you've gotten so fucking sneaky that you had the wool pulled over their eyes."

Ethan just stared at him. Voight watched him – trying to read an answer in the kid's eyes. It figured it was a bit of both. But that still pissed him off.

"I really don't want to go to camp, Dad," Ethan finally said – not giving him an answer.

"And, you think I feel good about sending you to camp right now?" Voight put to him. "You going to be dealing to some other people's kids there? You going to be off in the woods toking? What the fuck kind of trouble are you going to find there?"

"I really hate camp, Dad," Ethan pleaded with him.

Voight let out a breath and sat straighter. "I hear that," he allowed. "And, hearing that is about the only thing that makes me feel good about sending you to camp. Because your behavior – what you did – it has consequences."

"So keep me here," Ethan whined. "Punish me here."

Voight slapped his hands on his thighs and sat back into the cushions, staring at the kid. "What the fuck am I supposed to do with you here, Ethan? I work."

"Most dads work," he countered.

Voight gave a nod. "Yea. Most dads work. My job? I don't think so. And you think I'm going to trust you in this house – in this city – running around doing your thing? Alone? Especially right now?"

"I could go live with Justin," Ethan suggested, giving him hopeful eyes.

Hank snorted at that and crossed his arms. "Right now, your brother's life belongs the army. Which is pretty much where you're charging toward at this point too. And, he's got a baby on the way. His hands are full."

"I could stay with Erin," Ethan said with less confidence.

"Erin? You mean your sister – who works for me?"

Ethan sunk into the couch too and looked at him sadly. "I don't want to go to camp, Dad. I just want to stay home. I want to be here."

"See, son, the thing is - I really don't fucking care what you want. And what I get to decide is what's best for you. Now 'til your eighteenth birthday – my say goes."

Ethan looked at him with eyes that looked ready to cry again. "You said it was just while you were away. And, You and Justin ain't in jail anymore."

Hank let out a noise and looked away from him. "I wasn't in jail. I explained to you –"

Ethan cut him off. "You said it was temporary. You said me going away too was temporary," he protested weakly. "Just while you were gone."

Voight looked at him. "Yea," he allowed. "And, maybe if you could stop fucking things up and making this whole situation worse – we could work on a way to make things a bit more temporary."

Ethan's eyes brimmed again and then he hung his head, going back to examining the floor.


	12. Plan

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Hank adjusted in the rocking chair and took another linger sip of his drinking – just staring at his son's sleeping form.

He'd give Ethan that. He'd always been a good sleeper. He'd been the perfect baby. So fucking quiet. They had him sleeping through the night well before he should've. He'd barely ever cry and when he did he calm as soon as they got the bottle to him or the diaper changed. It seemed like he started smiling and giggling earlier than babies should too. Or at least earlier than Justin.

Justin had been a hell of a baby. All the horror stories you hear about having your first kid? Justin had made sure to check off every goddamn box. Colic. Hank didn't think he or Camille got anything that resembled more than two hours sleep at a time for about the first nine months. And then it was the teeth coming in and the ear infections. The way that kid could fucking wail. His lungs. When he finally did start crawling and walking the little bugger just went on a path of destruction. Justin didn't play. He fucking destroyed. Took everything apart. So fucking rough. Of course, Camille said his son was taking after him. It eventually seemed to reach a calm. They had some good years when he was a little kid. But as soon as puberty hit it all started going to hell again. The teen years? It was just fucking argument after argument after argument. He was constantly finding buttons to push. A fucking pain in the ass he was. Then it'd just gone nuclear after Camille was gone.

Ethan had been a whole different story, though. Right from fucking day one. The pregnancy seemed too easy – given Camille's age at the time and all the fear of the Lord the fucking doctors had tried to put in them when they decided they were having this baby. Not that there'd really been much of a discussion about it. Sometimes Hank didn't know where he'd have landed if he'd actually had much of a voice in the matter. But it was Camille's baby. Unplanned or not. Fuck – reality was it'd even been too easy to get pregnant. And having a baby at home in your 40s? Well, yeah, it was fucking tiring. Exhausting. But you're different then. You've got better perspective about the whole thing. You knew that all the baby crap would pass – too fast. And even though it was exhausting – you tried to enjoy it. Hank supposed having two kids in their teens at home to help out with the infant had made things easier too. On Camille – and on him. It made him feel a little less guilty about not being around and leaving her on her own to deal with it all. Though, dealing with Ethan as a baby didn't fall anywhere in the same realm was what it'd been like with Justin. Camille likely would've sung the praises of it even if she hadn't had Justin and Erin around to give a hand. It usually seemed like it was more Justin and Erin that needed the fucking extra attention and were causing the fucking problems and stresses than it was the little baby.

Maybe it'd always been that way. For so fucking long it'd been Justin – and Erin at times – who had needed the attention. Ethan was just a fucking little kid. A good kid. Hank didn't need to be worrying about him so much.

Or at least he hadn't.

Now?

Well, that was a whole different ballgame too.

It was sort of too bad. Ethan would've been a fun kid. He was a fun kid.

Baseball. Everything was about baseball. But Hank could've managed that. It likely would've been nice to have a kid to come home to. To throw the ball around a bit with. Set up a ball rebounder for him out back. Let him toss the thing at that while he got on the grill and gave him a running commentary on his form. Actually take him to some games.

And, dinosaurs. Hank wasn't sure he could've managed that. He didn't know shit about dinosaurs. He didn't give a shit about dinosaurs. Though, Camille had always told Ethan, "That's just because Daddy is a dinosaur." And then she'd look at him with those eyes – usually with just a touch of disapproval but always a tease. "And he growls like one too," she'd add but then smile when he gave her that slightly hurt look. That one where he didn't quite want her to know that saying that – saying he growled at his family – stung a bit. But stung it did – even if it was meant as a tease. And, they'd been together too long. She knew his looks. She knew what they meant. She could read him. And put him in his place like no other could.

But all those little plastic toys when Ethan was a kid. The baseball field and the plastic players that he'd replace with his fucking plastic dinosaurs. Have some sort of prehistoric World Series and then leave the fucking things all over the floor.

And how he said the fucking dinosaur names? Hank didn't even know what he was saying to bother correcting him if he had the pronunciation off. He likely did. Or it was fucking spot on. It'd seemed like a bright kid. A really fucking bright kid. Hell, even when he was that age, Hank had started wondering how much he should start putting away for the kid's college fund. He'd be nearly fucking 60 when Ethan was going off to school. Sixty. Fuck.

Though, now he really doubted Ethan would be going off to school. Those bright lights in him – those bright eyes – they'd dimmed when his skull cracked open. It was a fucking miracle he wasn't a vegetable. That he walked and talked and breathed. That he wasn't a drooling blob shitting himself in some hospital bed attached to some respirator. But it also meant he was going to be another kid that Hank was going to have to nearly drag through high school. Fuck, he was having to drag him through middle school. He'd be yet another Voight kid who didn't go much farther than that.

Hank just didn't fucking know what to do with him now. It'd be different if Camille was there. They could've done it – managed – with her there. But just the two of them? What the fuck was he supposed to do with a twelve-year-old kid? And this kid.

Hank felt such anger at him. The choices this kid was making. He should know better. He'd seen stupid mistakes Justin and Erin had made. He'd seen what it'd got them. He knew what he did for a living. Hank thought he was pretty fucking clear about where lines were drawn. About what things didn't get brought into their home. About what kind of people they were. What kind of family they were. He didn't see grey areas in his household. It was fucking crystal clear what he expected out of his kids – and that there were punishment and consequences.

Problem what he didn't know what the punishment or consequence was here. Everything he was coming up with just seemed like it was setting Ethan up to do something stupider. Or that it was actually some kind of prize for his shitty behavior.

So he'd taken his phone and computer away. So he'd segregated him to a bedroom – only then he was gone all fucking day – so like hell the kid was actually sitting in there all day. Though, he was if he knew what was good for him and if Hank had put the fear of the Lord in him like he wanted.

Erin kept telling him that his tough love didn't work. It hadn't worked with Justin and it wasn't going to work with Ethan. Hank wasn't sure he agreed.

But as much as he wanted his kids to be scared of him – to respect him, to do as they were fucking told and to know when he said something there was a fucking reason he was saying it – he didn't want his kids to be scared of him either.

He could make all these intricate plans at work. Sometimes on a fucking dime. He pushed to make sure everyone got home each and every fucking night. That his crew was allowed to have lives. Allowed to have families. And his city was safe – the safest he could make it in the circumstances. He did that for his kids. For his staff's kids. For the families of Chicago.

But how to work out a plan to be able to do that – to do his job – and to have a stable environment for his kid too? He couldn't fucking piece together how to do that. Not when the biggest piece of the puzzle in his plan – Camille – had been taken away.

But life wasn't fair. The world wasn't fucking fair. He saw that repeatedly. Every fucking day.

So he'd just have to fucking MacGyver it.

Ethan stirred and seemed to realize he was being watched and lifted his himself up on his elbow, blinking at him through the dark.

"Dad?" he mumbled and rubbed a bit at his eye again. He was turning it into a bigger fucking mess than it already was with all the rubbing. It was going to be swollen shut for weeks at this rate.

Hank just took another slow sip from his drink. Rolling his tongue over it and letting the burn linger.

"Is it morning?" Ethan muttered.

"No," Hank allowed.

"What time is it?"

"Late," Hank provided flatly.

His son stopped rubbing at his eye and squinted at him through the dark some more. "Why are you sitting there?"

"It's my house," Hank said. "I sit where I want."

"Oh," Ethan allowed – not pressing the matter. He wasn't so brain dead some days. But he let out a small sigh at even thinking that and put his glass on the floor.

"Magoo, I didn't mean what I said. Calling you a head case," Voight said.

Ethan's body slouched back into the mattress a bit. "Oh," he said with a bit of sadness in his voice.

Voight let out a near silent sigh again and pulled himself from the chair. He walked to the bed and tapped Ethan's shoulder.

"Move over," he said gently.

Ethan gazed at him for a moment but then scooted over a grand total of maybe three inches. Hank too it, though. He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment and then hesitated but lay down next to his son.

Ethan was still on his elbow and looked down at him. Carefully considering that positioning. But then he let out a slightly shaky breath and lay flat on his back too. They both stared through the dim light to the ceiling. Erin had posters on it. Some heavy metal bands from yesteryear and their various anti-heartthrob idols with ink and metal sticking out of their faces. Hank realized he could likely at least take those posters down. They'd likely give Ethan fucking nightmares if he had him in that room much longer.

"Who the fuck are these jokers?" Hank said after they lay looking at them in silence for a while.

Ethan gestured at the one. "That's Limp Bizit."

"Yeah, Limp Biscuit is right," Hank muttered.

Ethan's head turned and looked at him. Hank could feel there was a small smile on the kid's face as he weighed the statement and knew he'd gotten what his father was saying. His head went back to staring at the poster then.

"Erin really liked them," Ethan said quietly.

"Your sister has shit taste," he provided.

Ethan turned and looked at him again. "She likes you," he said flatly.

"Mmm," Hank allowed with a shrug, acknowledging for both of them that that didn't improve on her case of taste.

Ethan tried to hide another small smile at that and Hank allowed him the thinnest one in acknowledgement. Letting him feel some sort of emotion toward him that wasn't just anger or sadness or rage.

Hank met his eyes. "I don't think you're a head case, Ethan," he said more gently but with a firmness to it. "I was angry. I shouldn't have said that." Ethan just gazed at him for a beat and then turned his head away going back to staring at the assholes on the ceiling. "And if your mom heard me say that to you … well …" Hank allowed.

There was a slight rattle from Ethan at that and Hank watched him. The kid's chest sucked down and his chin trembled a bit. He gave him the thinnest – nearly invisible – smile and reached, gathering his son to him, loosely wrapping his one arm around him and patting at his shoulder.

"I miss Mom," Ethan muttered tearily from where he'd buried his face against his shoulder to try to hide what was going on with his emotions.

"Yeah, I miss your mom too," Hank allowed. "Especially right now. She'd know exactly how to deal with all this. She'd kick your ass into next week but she'd know exactly the route we were taking to get it there."

"Please don't be so angry with me," Ethan said quietly, his face still hidden from him.

Hank patted at his shoulder, pulling him a bit closer to him. "Ethan," he said firmly. "You did a list of stupid things. You haven't been truthful with me. You've boldfaced lied to me. I'm upset. I'm disappointed. It's how this works."

"So just punish me already," Ethan whined in what sounded like a nearly contained sob.

"I will," Hank allowed. "Don't worry about that." Ethan made another sad noise and rubbed his face at his shoulder, giving him the smallest peek. Hank was waiting for it and caught his eyes. "I've got a plan."


	13. Knock Around

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Hank put his grip around the back of Ethan's neck and kept directing him forward when the kid came to a grinding stop. The neck twisted in his grip and his son looked at him.

"Dad," he near whined, "I don't know anything 'bout boxing."

"You're going to learn," Hank rasped at him.

Hank guided the kid through the gym. He hadn't been in in ages – though he knew Erin came over. It was her choice workout spot.

Antonio had gotten it cleaned up good since the last time he'd been over. Since he'd taken over the joint. Looked cleaner. Somehow it seemed brighter despite it being in the basement. Maybe had a fresh coat of paint and had gotten the kids to regularly wipe the grim off the windows to let in some extra light. Looked like he'd used some of the cash to buy some new equipment too. There were still some bags that looked like they'd seen better days. But there were lighter ones – newer ones – that some kids were over working out on. Practicing their jabs. Bits and pieces of modern day cardio and aerobic equipment littered the floor off in one corner. Not just skipping ropes anymore. Though, the ring still looked the way Hank remembered it. Thing had likely been there since the 80s – if not more like the 70s. Nothing modern and updated about it. But some things didn't need to change with the times. The ring. The ropes. It was all the same when you got inside. It was the people in it that changed it up. Kept you hopping.

It was the end of the school day. End of shift for lucky buggers who worked a 9-to-5 gig. Or the blue line that had landed a morning shift and walked off the job at three. There was some decent activity going on in there. Kids Ethan's age. Kids a bit older. Teens that could pummel the shit out of him. Some real young guys that it would be a toss up on if their dads had brought them in too or if these were little wannabe gang bangers that someone in there was trying to get off the street now before it was too late. Try to turn some of these kids around. Give them a safe place. Give them an alternative.

Every kid in that pit was one less kid out running around the streets. Getting in with the wrong sorts. They might still do that. But at least for two or three hours a day they had an alternative and maybe some of the guys in that basement could lay out the real alternatives for them. Get them walking a different path.

And there were good people to do that in there too. Cops. Firefighters. Vets. Some of the more bureaucratic assholes that who'd used to be cops but had gone over to the dark side with the cushy chairs and cushier pay: CIA, FBI, Secret Service, DEA. You name it. Hank didn't have respect for all of them. There were still people in there he didn't want near his did. Didn't want them wagging their mouths at his kid. But there were enough people in there that he respected that he trusted some of them might be able to knock some sense into Ethan. And, if not the men in the room – then maybe getting in a real brawl with some kids who were much bigger thugs and tough guys than Ethan wanted to even pretend to be – could give him a bit of a shakedown.

"Antonio," Hank called out as he spotted the guy. He was over sitting on a bench, wrapping his wrists and giving some feedback to a kid that didn't look much older than Ethan on one of the bags.

Antonio looked over and tilted his chin in acknowledgment. He stood and gave the kid on the bag a small jab in the shoulder and then walked over.

"Hey," he allowed, examining Ethan from head-to-toe. "So this your man?"

Hank just gave him a curt nod. He'd told Antonio just enough. Didn't need to say more. They had an understanding when it came to these sorts of things. Dawson knew what it meant to be a family man. To do the job. And he got what happened when it all fell apart too. This was a simple favor. You do simple favors for the cops you worked with. You did the not so simple ones too.

"This is him," Hank agreed and nudged Ethan forward a bit more roughly. The kid had near put on the brakes ever since they'd gotten to the bottom of the stairs in the place. "Ethan. Antonio Dawson."

"Hey," Antonio nodded at him.

But Ethan had diverted his eyes to examine the floor. "Hi," he near whispered.

Antonio eyed the kid a bit more – sizing him up. Hank knew he was likely taking in the fucking bruises all of his kid's face. More likely he was measuring the scarring and missing ear on the opposite side of Ethan's head. Hank pulled a bit of a pucker at that. He knew people looked. But they better take their three seconds. Take in all they wanted and then never fucking look and just see that again. They looked longer. They stared at his kid again in the future – in front of him – and there were problems.

"Bit of a brawler?" Dawson put to him flatly.

Ethan didn't look up and even though Hank didn't like that – his kid was going to show some respect in this space – he still answered for him.

"More of a bleeder," Hank said and eyed the kid until Ethan gave him a glance. Hank's eyes expressed his disapproval at his manners. They'd already talked about that on the way over. Or rather – Hank talked, Ethan listened.

Voight moved his eyes back to Antonio. "He likes to get himself into fights. But he looks like this after most of them."

"Mmm," Antonio allowed. "I guess we can work on that." Voight nodded and then reached and pushed Ethan forward again. "OK," Dawson said. "We'll get you in some gloves. See what you can do."

Ethan stalled again and looked at Antonio with big eyes. "I don't know nothing about boxing," he said, his eyes darting to the ring were two guys who clearly knew something about boxing were sparing.

"That's OK," Antonio assured, giving him a far too reassuring look for Hank's likes, and plopping a hand on his shoulder. "Most guys your age who come in haven't tried it out before. We'll get you sorted."

Ethan looked at Voight with more pleading eyes. "I'm not supposed to fight," he protested. A clear last ditch effort.

"You're not supposed to fight," Voight agreed. "But you fought. So you want to fight – you're going to learn how to fight. In the right time and the right place – so I'm not dealing with this," he said and reached to press his thumb into his bruised jaw again, tilting his head to take another look at the mess he'd gotten himself into.

The more he looked at it the more Voight wanted to drag the fucking snot-nosed bastards who'd wailed on his kid into a fucking room and pummel them. Fucking three fourteen year olds and their fifteen-year-old ringleader against a kid who'd just turned twelve? A kid who was all of four foot, five and maybe 70 lbs when he was soaking wet. Voight had some opinions on who should be fucking expelled – and who should be fucking looking at assault charges. But money and status bought a whole lot. Voight might have some weight to throw around on the status side of things in certain circles in Chicago – at that school he didn't. But those fucking brats better keep their noses clean when they were in the city – didn't matter if that didn't happen until they hit university and started up with some stupid shit with all their little frat buddies. Voight didn't forget. He'd be watching and waiting for the assholes who got his kid sent home looking like this.

Ethan just looked at him sadly. The kid was too soft. Too small. Too fucking bashful and scared. Because of his size. Because of his scars. But he had this chip on his shoulder and some scheming sense going on in that head of his where all the synapses weren't firing quite right. He knew how to get himself into trouble. He hadn't quite figured out how to get himself out of it. Or how to protect himself when he didn't have any sense and got himself into stupid situations in the first place. That was going to change.

They shared a stare for a bit. A standoff that Ethan knew he was going to lose. That he backed down quickly from and gave Antonio a defeated look. Dawson just patted him on the shoulder again and pointed off toward the bag and the kid he'd been working with when they'd come in.

"We'll have some fun," he assured.

Ethan gave a little nod and trudged in that way. Antonio started to follow but Hank called at him, "'Tonio," he said.

Dawson turned back and gestured for Ethan to keep going. He eyed them both for a moment but went, standing near the bag and glancing at them between watching the kid smack at the thing.

"I want you to give him a bit of a knockdown," Hank told his guy as they watched.

Antonio nodded. "OK," he allowed. "Don't usually put them in the ring on their first day."

"You will today," Voight instructed.

"OK," he shrugged.

Voight gave him a bit more serious look. "Knock him around but go easy on the body. He's got some busted ribs."

Antonio looked over at the kids and gave a small nod. At least the kids were talking. That might be some sort of progress. Reports from the school indicated that Ethan didn't do a whole lot of talking. Hank didn't much see a problem with that. He didn't need his kid buddying up with fucking rich kids and trying to live some life that no Voight was ever going to live. And, he wasn't much for chit-chat. So if Ethan didn't want to talk – fine.

Ethan had never been a particularly chatty kid anyways. Well, unless it was about baseball or dinosaurs. Then he was a fucking babbler. But in day-to-day life – the kid had always been fairly mute. Sparse with his words. Used them when need be. But that was something Voight could appreciate too. It'd bothered Camille, though. Thought he was a late talker and then worried he wasn't going to have friends. Not a little smart-ass and social butterfly like Justin and Erin had been. But their qualities had just turned into talking back, snark, and a string of broken hearts as all the wrong characters flocked to his supposedly 'mysterious' teens. Ethan could be mysterious – for better reasons than that.

Though, sometimes Voight felt like his talking had gotten less since Camille was gone. There'd been a period that he hadn't talked at all. That they'd wondered if that part of his head got scrambled so hard that the function just wasn't there. But it was more that he just didn't want to talk. He started talking again when he was good and ready. Unfortunately he didn't talk to too many people. So the school thought he was pretty much retarded and friendless. Voight wanted the kid to be smart about who he hung around with – but he didn't need the kid friendless. And he didn't need the kid using his words with the wrong fucking people either, which seemed to be what he had been up to these days.

Maybe he could meet some kids in the gym that were worth his time. And hopefully they wouldn't be the wrong kinds of people to set him in the wrong kinds of directions. Voight knew it was a bit of a risk. But he was trusting the cops of the youth league to do right by the kids and to keep his kid out of trouble. At least for that afternoon.

"OK," Antonio allowed. "What about all this?" he asked, gesturing at his face and still staring at the kid. But Hank knew Dawson wasn't asking about the bruising and the swelling.

Antonio got it. He knew what it was like to have sons that age. He knew what it was like to have a kid that got pulled into something because of your job. To end up with a kid that had trauma because of it. Kids were resilient. Boys - sons of cops - they learned how to man up. But they were still just kids - and they deserved to get to be kids. To have a childhood and to grow into life and to then actually be men. Real men. You had to get beyond the trauma, though. You had to not poke and jab at it in the way that triggered the kid and sent them running the wrong way or just fucking shut them down.

"Do what you've got to do to give him a bit of a flash," Hank said. "He's playing possum. Don't let him."

Antonio gave a little nod while still watching the two boys. "OK, I hear ya," he finally said and started to wander back across the gym to where the kids were.

They'd see what kind of bob and weave Magoo could manage in this. Maybe it'd knock some real sense into him. In a way that Hank didn't think he could. But Hank wasn't ready to throw in the towel on this just yet.

He clapped his hands together in a way that demanded Ethan's attention to snap back to him.

"C'mon, Magoo, gear up. Get in there," he barked. "No pussy footing."


	14. Hands Up, Head Down

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Justin sat up straighter in the armchair, looking away from the television, as he heard the key turn in the front door's lock. He didn't declare himself quickly enough, though – or he'd caused too much a creaked with his movement and distraction with the glow of TV, because his father's figure had barely stepped inside the door when he saw his hand moving for his gun and his other arm pushing his little bro back out the door.

Justin held up his hands, straightening even more. "Only me, Pop."

There was quiet and then he stepped more into the entranceway and stared at him. There was a clear look of disapproval to the gaze – but Justin hadn't really expected anything less. Thankfully they didn't have too much time to get into it right then.

"J!" Ethan called out and came around the corner and near charged him. "You came home!"

Fuck. The kid was a mess. When Erin said he'd taken the brunt of a fight, he hadn't quite pictured him looking that mangled. Kid too more than the brunt of it by the looks of it. But the kid was still so fucking small. Seriously, Justin wasn't sure that he'd grown at all since the last time he'd seen him – and it had been a good fucking long while. One visit from the time he'd gotten out of jail and then headed out to Basic. Kid clearly hadn't hit puberty yet – or at least not the fucking accompanying growth spurt. No wonder other kids were wailing on him. Well that, and Ethan had a tendency to be a little bitch. He had likely been a pain in the ass to the wrong person. Justin could sorta relate to that.

"Damn straight, I came home," he told the little fucking kid, batting playfully at him and wrestling him into a headlock, giving him a good noogie and then some fake punches to the stomach that Ethan seemed happy to oblige and do some jumping to avoid them like they were in a full on brawl.

"Watch his ribs," Hank muttered at him. "Not sitting with him for hours at the hospital again."

Justin gave his dad a look but released Ethan. He didn't want to be the one getting in shit for hurting his brother. And he also didn't want to be the one having to do a medical run with Ethan. He'd experienced both of those things in the past and the accompanying wrath of his dad. Wasn't down with dealing with that that night.

"Dad took me to boxing!" Ethan said with some enthusiasm after Justin let him go.

Justin gave him a surprised look at that and then looked back to Dad. "You're taking him to boxing and you're worried about me busting his ribs?"

Hank gave him an unimpressed look and then held out a brown bag of groceries at Ethan, who'd gone to staring at the TV screen where Justin had had the game on while he waited for his dad and bro to get home. He hadn't wanted to touch base by phone so he'd settled in for what he knew could be a bit of a wait. He'd sort of expected Ethan to be up segregated in the bedroom when he'd gotten there based on the briefing Erin had given him but the kid hadn't been. He hadn't been sure if that was a good sign or not. He knew if it was him he'd likely have snuck out and gotten in shit. He wasn't sure Ethan actually had the balls for that, though. So he figured he was with dad. But that wasn't necessarily a good sign either. Though, this looked pretty good.

"Turn off the television and go wash and chop the veg," he said sternly.

Ethan gave him a cautious look but didn't put up any arguments. That was the smart thing to do. It was basically always the smart thing to do with Pop. Justin had had enough arguments to know that there was a winner and there was a loser. And the winner was always the same. It was usually better to save yourself the grief. Though, it'd taken him a long-ass time to figure that all out. Maybe he was better for it. And, maybe Ethan was smarter than him if he already had it sorted in his own head that he was currently in the position where he should just shut the fuck up.

Justin held out the remote to the kid, who gave the Cubs game one more longing look before flicking it off. Likely the first bit of screentime the kid had had in days. Probably the last bit he was going to have for months. And he'd gotten all of thirty seconds. Then Ethan stepped over to their dad and took the bag, starting to move for the kitchen.

"You're staying for dinner, right?" Ethan asked with some timid hopefulness. "We got pork chops."

"Hell ya, I'm staying," Justin gave him. "Think I'm going skip out on dad's chops and chilling with you?"

Ethan gave him a small smile and glanced at their dad again, who still was giving him a bit of a glare, so the kid just sunk in on himself and slinked away. As soon as he was sorta outta sight and maybe sorta outta earshot, Dad turned the glare right to him.

"You better not be AWOL for this," he spat and pointed.

Justin held up his hands in some surrender at him. "It's legit, Pop. I got a mileage pass. I'm just here for the night."

Pop put his hands on his hips and eyed him.

"Bit of a waste of a pass and quite the drive for an overnight," Dad put back to him in that tone. That fucking tone that dad was expert at. He could put you right back into your place in about two seconds flat. Didn't matter if you'd gone into the conversation thinking you had it. If you thought you were prepared. Had decided you weren't going to back down. Dad still fucking knew how make sure you knew exactly where you were in the food chain that was their family.

Justin sighed and gestured at the couch dad was standing in front of. Pop just kept giving him that look – not budging. So Justin sat down anyways, reclaiming the armchair.

"Yeah, well, maybe it was a waste of a trip if you're taking him to boxing and grilling him chops. 'Cuz you guys all good now?"

Dad just kept looking at him. And he had the upper hand now too. But Justin had handed it to him. He'd sat down. Taken the submissive position. Let Dad tower over him. Like he liked.

"Bought you a steak when you walked out of the gates, didn't I?" Pop put back to him. It was clearly a smack-down statement. Make sure he really knew where he stood.

Justin looked down and shook his head. "Yeah, OK, Pop," he allowed but then went right back to his eyes. "Just that Erin said you had him on a bit of a bread and water regime for the first four-eight there."

Dad nearly rolled his eyes – not that he ever really fully rolled them. But he got that look that was just as good. He shook his head and looked off into the corner, his tongue popping out his cheek on the one-side. His clearly annoyed stance.

"Erin called," Dad put flatly.

Justin shrugged. "Yeah, Pop, she called. What'd you expect?"

Pop pointed at him, there was some clear anger in his face. But when wasn't there? "I expect my kids to fucking …" he just shook his head and looked away again – not even completing the thought.

Justin watched him for a moment but then shoved his hand in his pocket. "It's all good, Pop," he said and handed out the slightly crumbled photo paper to him. "I didn't come just to rag on you. Wanted to show you this."

Pop eyed him for a moment but then stepped forward and took the paper. It seemed to take a minute for him to clue in what it was but then his face changed. It softened.

"Oh, wow," Pop let out quietly.

Justin knew Dad was happy about the pregnancy. Excited. Excited to be a Popa? Or to have another Voight? Another fucking boy. Pop hadn't exactly expressed what was going through his head. But Pop never did. Maybe it was more he was happy for him. Taking it as a sign he was getting his head on straight. Or that he'd done right in the end? Justin didn't quite know but he did know that every time the baby got mentioned that dad changed. When Olive was around – he changed.

Pop shook the photo back at him. "You could've emailed me this," he said – but there wasn't an angry tone – a tell-off – in it.

Justin shrugged. "Nah," he said. "Then I wouldn't have gotten to see you looking at him."

"Mmm," Pop allowed and gazed the ultrasound photo for another moment and then handed it back out to Justin.

Justin shook his head and made a small gesture with his hand. "That's your copy."

Pop gave a little nod and gazed at the photo again. He finally backed up and sat down on the couch, still looking at it. Justin really wished he could read Dad's mind. It wasn't often that he saw the softer side of dad anymore. Sometimes he got glimpses. But it wasn't like when he was a kid and Mom could bring it out of him all the time. That he had those moments of being a really fun dad. A good dad. They did normal, fun family stuff. Fishing and ball games and the pier. Backyard barbecues and road trips. Camping. Some amusement parks along the way. They'd been a pretty typical family. But somewhere along the way that got lost. Dad got darker. Life got rougher. Things just got so fucking complicated. Justin wasn't sure that Ethan ever really got to experience their mundane family – and any remnants of it that had been left completely disappeared with Mom gone. Serving out what was left of his teens with just Dad – dealing with Mom dying – that'd been hard enough. Growing up with just dad? Especially the way dad was now? That wasn't no walk in the park for Ethan.

"Olive got her heart set on any names yet?" Pop asked while still looking at the shadowy outline of his baby boy on that paper.

"She seems pretty set on Henry," Justin said and saw Dad's head snap up again. There was some surprise there – not quite disapproval but surprise. "After what you guys went through. What you did for her. For us."

Pop just shook his head. "No," he said flatly. "You don't want to do that to the little guy."

Justin shrugged. "I don't know. Henry is kinda cute."

He got a patronizing look for that one. "Yea, real cute," Pop provided.

Justin allowed a little smile. "We'll see," he allowed. "See if it suits him when he gets here. But he's just kicking at Olive – so we're thinking, might be appropriate."

"Mmm," Dad allowed, his head bobbing with a small concealed laugh and a hidden smile. He looked up then, though. "Olive's doing good, though? With the move to the base? The pregnancy?"

"Yeah," Justin provided. "Real good. Making friends with some of the other girls. Starting to get the nursery ready. Trying to get another mileage pass for the long weekend. We were going to come in. See you. Her mom. Get the crib."

Dad nodded in acknowledgement of that and tapped on the photo. "And he's good?"

"Yeah," Justin agreed. "Doc says he's real good. Good size. Good heart rate."

Dad nodded again and just kept looking at the photo. Justin wondered if it had him thinking about Mom. Or their family. Or the times he'd seen the ultrasounds when him and Ethan were on the way. He could remember seeing the photos from some of Ethan's. But he didn't remember dad looking quite like this when they were around. But this was different. The whole context was so incredibly different. It'd been making Justin think of Mom a lot too. Fuck, it was making him think about all kinds of things. Things that had never even crossed his mind or registered before. But with his own boy on the way – it was different now. It had him thinking about Pop a lot too. Understanding him a bit differently. Getting it a bit more. And that's even before Lil Henry got there. Fuck. It'd be even worse when the lil guy got there. Justin was starting to think more and more Pop was just going to have been right – about more than he was ready to admit yet.

"Look, Pop," Justin finally said after letting the man sit there for a bit, "I know you're going to do what you're going to do. But I thought maybe if I came out and we talked face-to-face rather than me just trying to stick my nose into the family business on the phone …"

Dad slowly looked up at him. The disapproval was starting to crease there again but at least he wasn't all out barking at him yet. Justin let out a slow breath.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking," Justin said and gestured at the ultrasound. "With the baby on the way. I think I'm just … starting to get things a bit more. Like what I put you … and Ma through."

Pop didn't give him anything to that but did sit back in the couch and kept his eyes on him. That's really all you could ask for with Pop a lot of the time. It was actually a pretty good sign. At least he was being listened to.

"I keep thinking about how much it's going to kill me if I get deployed. To have to be away from my son. From Olive," Justin said and saw dad open his mouth to say something so he rushed to add. "But I'll do it. For my family. And the service. This country. I get you being away with work was about that too. You did it for us. And for the city. But you being tied up with work and sending your boy away? That's two different things, Pop."

Pop let out a noise and crossed his arms. "Justin, think back on what it was like around here with your mom gone. With you a teenager. Think about how that turned out."

"Yeah, Pop, that is what I'm thinking about. And, I think I would've been about ten times worse if I didn't have you at least checking in on me, looking out for me."

"I still do both of those things for your brother – while he's at school."

Justin sighed loudly and sat forward. "Dad, c'mon. Private school? Fucking boarding school? Us? He's never going to fit in there. He's always going to be a mark."

"He's fine," Dad said dismissively.

"Pop, he's not fucking fine. Look, Eth isn't like me and Erin."

Pop let out a sound at that. He was clearly amused and went back to staring at the blank screen on the television. "No, he's not."

"I know," Justin agreed. "He's a fucking weirdo. He's a pain in the ass."

"You were a fucking pain in the ass," Pop said and gave him a stern look. "Your brother is just … your brother."

"Yeah," Justin pressed. "And my brother isn't made for some preppy boarding school. He needs Chicago. And he needs you, Pop. Look, I get having him home again won't be easy. But Erin –"

"But what Erin?" Pop put to him. "You two. You're in your 20s now. Erin's almost 30, J. You two are supposed to be living your life at this point. And, I'm just – JUST – getting you both to the point you've got your feet under you. And, every time it seems like I fucking get you there, the fucking rug gets pulled out again. What you – and your sister – need to be focusing on is career and your own families. Getting settled down. Stable. Living your fucking lives. Not worrying about this."

"Pop, he's our baby brother," Justin said with some regret. "He's a fucking pain in the ass weirdo but he's our fucking pain in the ass weirdo. We love him. And, maybe me and Erin are at the point we've got our heads after enough out of our own asses and you've helped us get our keep stable enough on the ground that we're in a position we can actually help."

Pop snorted at that and looked at him. "J, you're in the army. You've got your own pain in the ass on the way—"

"Family, Pop," Justin said. "Family is everything. You said it all the time. I talked about it with Olive and I know it's not much but we'll start coming into town every chance we get. Weekends. Holidays. We wanted to anyways. We wanted you to be a part of the baby's life. And, hell, you could send Magoo out to us sometimes. The place on base is real nice. We got space. Nothing fancy – but we got space for him to come crash with us when you need the break or need the help."

Pop just made a small sound of acknowledgement that he'd spoken but didn't add anything to the discussion. Didn't argue against it or agree to it.

"Yea, I know it's not much, Dad, but it's what I can give ya for now. Erin will help too. You know she'd bend over backwards for you and Magoo. She's real worried right now. Not just about Eth. You too, Dad. You've got to be beating yourself up over all this."

His eyes came back to him sternly – warning him not to assess how he was feeling, not to push much farther on how he was raising his youngest.

"I don't know if you've made any decisions yet, Pop, but please just think about it a bit more before you commit to anything. Maybe it'd be good for all of us to have Eth around. Might be good for you too. You know … someone to come home too?"

He heard Pop flare his nostrils a bit at that. So Justin backed down and stood up in the process, gesturing with his thumb off to the kitchen.

"So, am I allowed to go spend some time with him?"

Pop gave him a look but allowed a small nod. Justin gave him a little smile.

"He looks like shit," he gave his dad.

Pop made a face. "Six stitches in his face. Two cracked ribs."

Justin shook his head. "Holy shit. Guess boxing is a good plan then."

"At least maybe he'll fucking learn to keep his hands up and his head down," Pop muttered.

Justin nodded and retreated for the kitchen. But he sure as hell didn't think that was something Ethan was going to get in one lesson. It'd sure taken way more hard knocks than that for Justin to clue into some of that shit. Maybe Pops would direct things a little differently this time around – because Justin kind of thought Pops might need this as much as Eth did.


	15. No Clue

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Erin came back into the dining room and wrapped her arm around Hank in a loose half-hug while she walked by him.

"Nice dinner, Hank," she said a little teasingly.

But there was truthfulness to it. Hank had always been a good cook – or in this case grill master. It was just that he rarely actually did any cooking with an empty house now. She got it. There wasn't really reason to go all out for just one person. But when you could throw together a meal like they'd just eaten on the quick? C'mon – you needed to cook on occasion – even if it was just for you. And, it didn't have to be just for him. She'd let him cook for her on occasion to get to eat like that.

Apple stuffed pork chops. A sweet potato puree. Grilled asparagus. And whatever the seasoning and sauce he'd smeared on the chops? The whole meal had been sweet, tangy bliss in the mouth. She'd almost been surprised that they'd managed any sort of conversation at the table. Not that Hank was big on dinner table chit-chat. He'd allowed it, though. And he'd been proud of him.

It was clear that he was still upset with Ethan. That he was still on a short leash. That he was likely a little peeved with her and Justin too. But he hadn't run anyone into the ground. Belittled or told off. Put in their place and made them feel about an inch tall in the process. There'd been some body language. Some of his looks. Some topics that he clearly wasn't interested in. But he'd kept it in check. Been present and Ethan started to seem a bit more like Ethan in the process as he cautiously attempted to chatter at her and Justin – casting frequent glances to his father to gauge whether he was going to be told to shut up and eat up before being sent to upstairs again. He hadn't been, though.

Ethan did a surprising amount of talking. About the boxing and about how he'd made the baseball team at school until he got kicked out. Likely not the brightest topics – Erin could feel Hank brisling – but that was Ethan. He'd eventually switched to excitedly blabbering about the new Jurassic Park movie. Hank had rather quickly burst his big plans to see it as soon as possible – in IMAX 3D! – though, with a simple, "Don't count on that. Your ass is in this house or attached to my hip until I say otherwise."

Ethan had just gazed at him. "But we could go together, Dad," he'd said flatly.

Erin had nearly laughed. Everything about Hank's face – the comment itself – had clearly said that there was not a snowball's chance in hell that was happening. But Ethan just charged forward anyways. Even if Ethan hadn't been in shit – Hank and the movies? Hank and dinosaurs? Hank sitting in a movie theatre with popcorn to watch Steven Spielberg's 3D dinosaurs crowded by excited kids Ethan's age and probably younger? It just wasn't going to happen. But she'd felt bad she'd nearly let it out and had changed the topic – putting a question to Justin and letting him talk about the army and his training and the baby and living on base and Olive and all of it. Maybe Hank hearing that his wayward son was really turning things around at this point would get him to breath a little about Ethan being … a kid.

It'd been nice, though. All of it. It felt relatively normal. For them. More normal than anything they'd done together in a long time. But they'd never been all together. Not for a long time. Years. At least one of them was always missing. She supposed that one of them was still missing — Camille. That maybe a family dinner wouldn't ever feel quite right again with her gone. Especially when it was sitting at that dining table and when it was eating a dinner that Camille would've loved. Stuffed pork chops? That sounded like something Camille would've requested. It made Erin wonder if it was Hank who'd picked it as comfort food for Ethan or if Ethan had requestedd it. Or if Hank's mind was so distracted by things right now — so set in being reminded about his wife and his former family life — that he'd been drawn to those smells and tastes of home almost subconsciously and had picked it out himself.

Hank just gave her hand a pat now, as she passed him and reclaimed the chair she'd vacated to go and help Justin in the kitchen. Justin clearing the table and doing dishes? He really was trying to make a good impression on his pops. She couldn't think of a time EVERY that Justin had done that of his own initiative.

"What you got here?" Erin commented, picking up one of the pieces from the board game that Ethan was meticulously laying out.

Sometimes the kid almost came across like he must be somewhere on the spectrum with how weirdly focused he got on things. The seriousness he gave to them. The way he liked the things he liked and he just clung to them and knew every fucking little detail about them. But anything that fell outside of that realm? You could be a broken record and Eth still wouldn't absorb it. Doctors said it wasn't autism or Asperger's or the like, though. It was just Ethan. Or the Ethan after having his head smacked around and being put in a medically induced coma.

"Clue," he said flatly. He was engaged. He didn't even look at her. And Hank seemed pretty intent on just watching the kid putter at setting the game up.

"We going to play Clue?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at Hank. He just shrugged.

"Dad said we could," Ethan provided. "One game."

"Or … we could just watch some TV and talk?" Erin put to Hank. She hated broad games to begin with. She really hated board games with Ethan. He was as meticulous about the rules as he was about putting the pieces in the EXACT RIGHT spot. Only he was the only one allowed to look at the rule book and somehow he was the only one who always won – while apparently everyone else was doing things wrong and forfeiting their turn because of it. It was a frustrating process. It didn't fit on her scale of fun.

Hank shook his head, though, at her suggestion. "He isn't anywhere near earning the TV back yet."

"Mmm," Erin said and sat back in her chair. She stared at the board for a moment and then purposely reached and nudged the wrench out of place from where Ethan had carefully placed it.

"ERIN!" Ethan barked at her and near lunged at the board to put it back in the exact-right-place.

She gave Hank a look. "Clue look like super fun family time, Hank?"

He just gave her a look. "Don't antagonize your brother," he put to her flatly and then gestured his head to the kitchen. "Magoo," he ordered evenly but sternly. "Go help your brother finish up. Put on a coffee for me." He looked at Erin but she shook her head in answer to the silent question. "Ask J if he wants one."

Ethan gave him a bit of a pucker. "Can we have dessert now too?" he asked, going back to looking at his board game.

"Dessert?" Erin said and raised an eyebrow at Hank.

"Mud pie!" Ethan told her excitedly, looking up from his broad game again.

"Mmm," she said and raised another eyebrow at Hank. He just gave her a look that told her to keep commentary to herself.

He gestured off to the kitchen again. "Get it and plates. You can have a piece while you play."

That was enough to get Ethan moving and he near trotted out to the kitchen to deal with his assigned tasks.

"ERIN! Don't touch the pieces!" Ethan called harshly, shooting her a look.

"Don't you worry, Little Man," she assured, holding up her hands where he could see them and far away from the table. "I'll even let you move my piece for me when we play."

Ethan gave her an unimpressed squint. "You're Ms. Scarlett. You can touch her."

He disappeared into the kitchen and Erin looked at the board, picking up the red piece and examining the character drawing at its starting point on the board.

"Why am I the harlot?" she put to Hank rhetorically.

Hank gave her a small amused look at that. "Thinks she looks like you."

Erin went back to examining the picture of the character. "I don't think so," she said with some disgust. "Who are you?"

Hank just picked up the yellow piece closest to his place and wagged it at her. She lean forward and looked at the Col. Mustard character that had been revealed on the board.

"Oh, that definitely looks like you," she assured.

He gave her a thin smile and returned the piece to its place, nudging it with his fingernail until it was almost perfectly centre – the same way Ethan had left it.

"Hank, I'm impressed," she told him after he seemed satisfied with how he had the game piece. "Didn't even know you'd be having me and Justin here tonight and you're feeding him like he's on Top Chef."

He shook his head at her and went back to examining the board game. She wondered if he was somehow already casing out who did what in the where with the whatchacallit. That would likely make for a short game. She was all for that.

"He doesn't eat the food at the school," Voight mumbled.

"When's Eth ever eaten much of anything?" Erin put back to him.

Voight shot her a sterner look. "He cleaned his plate tonight, didn't he?"

She gave him a softer look. "Yeah, he did, Hank," he allowed gently.

He rubbed at his temple and kept sharing at the board. "Had him on the scales at the gym," he said flatly. "He's way underweight."

Erin gave him a small shrug. "He's just a small kid. He'll catch up. Likely hit puberty within the next 12 months or so. Find his hollow leg."

Hank shook his head. "Grilled him. He hadn't been going to the cafeteria at that fucking school. Too fucking scared to go and eat and too fucking scared to tell me that those little rat bastards were giving him a hard enough time that he's not going to eat. So he's eating out of the fucking canteen. Chocolate milk and Doritos. Because 'it's milk and corn, Dad'" he toned. "'It's not like candy.'" Hank shook his head.

"He's trying to take care of himself, Hank. He knows that's what you want."

He shot her a look. "He's twelve. He's growing. He's on medication. He needs to be fucking eating. No wonder he hates the fucking pills. Taking all that shit on an empty stomach."

He knocked the table and some of the pieces on the board shifted and toppled. Erin reached and tried to right them the best she could before Ethan came back and had a meltdown about them being messed up and they had to sit there and wait for him to get them all just-so again.

"I send that school my kid – to give him a fucking safe place, stability, a good education – and they send him back to me looking like he's gotten hit by a tractor trailer and having not fucking eaten a proper meal in months. And they fucking mark it as expulsion on his record?! Fuck," he said shaking his head.

Erin gave him a sad grimace at that. She knew Hank would beat himself up about some of this. That he'd likely want someone's head for it. But some of it was his own fault. Some of it was Ethan's. Ethan could've told them that things were that bad. He could've found some way to express it sooner. And, if Hank had listened a bit better he could've heard or seen what was going on a bit sooner – not written it all off as Ethan just not adjusting. Ethan not wanting to be there. Ethan just being Ethan.

But that's hard to do when you're parenting by remote. When your kid is hours and miles away and you barely have a telephone conversation with him that lasts longer than two minutes. Hank didn't go up and see his son enough either. He did. But Ethan needed more than he got. Hank's perspective was that the visits upset Ethan. That the next week he'd get constant calls from the school and the social worker about Ethan's behavior. He'd decided fewer visits were better – and that her visiting Ethan at all was off-limits.

She hadn't been up to visit him since November. She'd seen him at Christmas holidays but not sense. And, though, she'd had calls and emails and Skype and texts with him near daily – he'd never hinted that he was being bullied quite to the point that Hank was now describing. That he was unhappy. That some kids gave him a hard time. That he just wanted to come home. But Erin had sort of thought that all that was just to be expected. She'd tried to encourage him to man up a bit too. To grow up. That it could be worse. That she'd dealt with a whole lot worse when she was his age – and she survived. He sure as hell could survive some boarding school. But maybe they'd expected too much and turned their eyes too much. Maybe what happened was just as much their fault as Ethan's.

"He ate tonight," she tried to offer as some reassurance. She knew it wasn't much of one.

Erin knew that as much as Hank tried to parent Ethan from arm's length. As much as he tried to keep his distance because of all the memories associated with Ethan – and what happened … and Camille. That Hank really fucking blamed himself. Not that he'd ever say that. But he blamed himself for what happened to Ethan. And he blamed himself that Camille was gone. That his kids didn't have a mom now. That he didn't have his wife – who Erin knew was the love of his life. They'd been together forever. And they were a good couple. They had their bumps. But they had been like a rock when she'd lived with them. They had come to represent what she thought a marriage was supposed to look like. A real relationship. The kind you were supposed to have. And, she hadn't seen any indication that Hank had considered straying from their bond yet even though Camille had been gone years now. She doubt he'd ever get remarried. She wasn't even sure he would even date or find companionship or take care of any needs he had that she didn't much want to think about but might contribute to some of his increasing aggression anymore.

Hank worried about Ethan. He thought about him more than he let on. Because there were various layers of guilt to it all. He may leave a lot of it at the door when he went into work. But Erin didn't just see work Hank. She knew the rest of it. The larger story. And, as much as Hank didn't want Ethan at home – Erin knew he fucking wanted his son at home. That Hank was a family man – and he loved his kids. That he'd go to the ends of the Earth and back for his kids. That she wouldn't be surprised if some day he ended up dying for one of his kids. Though, she hoped he put some thought into that before anything did happen. Her and Justin were adults – they could cope. But if Ethan lost him anytime soon? That'd fucking destroy the kid. Those would likely be pieces she couldn't pick up no matter how hard she tried.

"Yeah, he ate tonight," Hank allowed.

She gave him a sad smile. "We could do this, Hank," she offered gently. "I mean, look at us," she said and gestured at the dining room and the game. "Family dinner. On a weeknight. Board game night."

"We're a real Norman Rockwell painting," Hank said flatly.

"We could do this, Hank," she said again. "We could try."

He just eyed the board for a long time. Taking it all in and not commenting. So Erin just stared at it with him. She didn't know how much she could argue this with him. What she could say to sway him from whatever decision he'd made.

Ethan finally came back from the kitchen, carefully carrying Hank's cup of coffee. He set it near his father and gave him a shy smile.

"Black," he said proudly.

Hank gave him a small nod and moved the mug closer to him. "Good man."

A smile tugged a bit at Ethan's mouth at that ever-so-small praise and he turned on his heel. "I'll get the pie!"

"Eth," Hank called at him when the kid was about half way to the kitchen and the came to abrupt halt and spun on his socked heel again to look at them. But Hank was looking at her. "Erin's going to pick you up tomorrow afternoon. Take you to boxing. Get you dinner. I've got some work to catch up on."

Ethan lit up at that. "OK," he said and gave her a big smile. She gave him a thin one and he spun on his heel again and skidded into the kitchen.

"Do a reality check on what trying this looks like," Hank told her flatly.

She gave him a small nod. "OK, Hank. I get it."

He eyed her for a moment and then said flatly, "Mrs. Peacock, the conservatory, knife." He reached and grabbed the little crime scene envelop that Ethan had set up in the middle of the board and opened it to look at it. He tossed the three corresponding cards face up on the table.

Erin gaped at it. "How'd you know that?"

Hank shrugged and eyed the board. "He's going to need to set it up again."

Erin's head snapped back to the game and groaned.

She thought there was going to be a whole lot of setting things up again if they were going to try this. She hoped she was ready for that. She thought she was.


	16. Lucky

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Justin lifted his head slightly off the pillow as he saw the bedroom door inch open and just Ethan's eye peering in at him.

"What you need, Eth?" he called.

The door pushed open all the way and the kid gazed at him. The light from the hallway flooding in.

"Erin left?"

"Yea, sleeping space is kinda at a premium here," Justin provided him.

He felt like a bit of a douche sleeping on the lower bunk of the fucking twin-sized bunk beds of the childhood bedroom that he'd been stuck sharing with his baby brother. You would've thought that he would've got to graduate to his own room again at some point. But, nah, even after Erin had moved out he still got stuck sharing a room with Magoo. Though, at that point he was getting into so much shit all the time having to share a room with baby bro was pretty much permanent punishment. Getting his own room would've been a privilege and one that always seemed kinda just out of reach. Justin supposed that was his own fucking fault though. He'd done good at being a screw up.

Prodigal son. That bugged him for a while too. But, maybe now, not so much. Maybe he was getting some redemption. Moving back into the fold a bit. And, besides, sleeping in the room that night meant he got to look at the crib. Think about how different everything was going to be in just a few more months. So fucking different. It was hard to believe.

Ethan fidgeted and just looked at him more. "Dad's not here." It was a statement, not a question.

"Nah," Justin agreed. "He went out."

"Where?" his little bro asked meekly.

Justin sighed and propped himself up on his elbow to look at the kid a bit more.

It'd really kinda only been recently that Justin was really truly getting that his fuck ups with the drunk driving and jail and shit had sorta destroyed Eth's life too. It got Dad in shit when Pop was just trying to do what he does. Sort shit out. But it all just ended up precipitating the whole thing that got Eth sent away in the first place. Now the little fucking runt looked more scared and retarded then when he left. Kinda broken a bit. At least on the inside.

Ain't that what Pop said to him? That he was broken on the inside. That Pops can't fix what's broken in there. But Justin kinda thought if they were the ones that let it break – that if he was the one who made the dumb-ass choices that ended up breaking his baby brother more than he was already in fucking pieces – maybe they had to at least try to fix him up.

Justin didn't know if he would've been able to realize that without the time in the army. Or without Olive getting pregnant. His own son on the way. But it was all starting to click now.

"Eth, one of the things you gotta learn is that if Pop goes out after coming home – don't ask too many questions. OK? He's just doing his thing. That's all you gotta know."

Ethan just looked at him. "Erin didn't go with him," he said flatly.

Justin shrugged. "Nah," he allowed.

"You guys were talking a long time," Ethan added and lifted his hand to chew on a hangnail. The kid's hands were a fucking mess too. Chewed down nails. Torn apart fingers. Justin had noticed it at the super table. He wasn't no expert at these sort of things but he knew that that sorta behavior was stress reaction and kind of obsessive compulsive. Borderline self-mutilation. But Erin had told him that Ethan wasn't taking his meds so the kids little quirks and anxiety were likely through the roof these days. A lot of bullshit and upheaval going on. But tell, Eth had been dealing with all of that for like five years at that point. Bullshit after layer of bullshit to fuck with his head more than it'd already been fucked with.

"Yea, well, you know Erin. She's the oldest. Thinks she gets to be as self-righteous as Pops."

"Were you talkin' 'bout me?" Ethan asked cautiously.

Justin let out a sigh at him and looked at him for a moment and then reached and held up the blankets, shuttling to the far side of the fucking tiny mattress that there was barely room for him on as it was. "C'mon here," he told his baby bro.

He knew from the get that that was likely what Ethan was looking for anyways. And what the fuck? If he was spending the night at Pop's, sleeping in his childhood bedroom in a fucking bunk bed – might as well make it complete and have the little fucking dickweed crawling into bed with him too.

Ethan had been fucking notorious about that. Ever since he figured out how to get out of his crib on his own, Ethan would be wanting to sleep with him. Because there were monsters. Under the bed. In the closet. In the bathroom. Downstairs. In the basement. The whole house was full of fucking monsters as far as Ethan was concerned. At least after it got dark. It had been annoying as fuck. Or at least that's what Justin thought at the time. Who the fuck wants to share a bed with a fucking toddler when you're already stuck sharing a fucking room with them?

It'd changed a bit after Ma died. After Ethan finally got home from the hospital. Justin didn't mind so much then. Then he just wanted to cling to him. More often then not Ethan ended up in his bed and then Pops would end up sitting on the hardass wooden desk chair just staring at them. It had kind of helped for a bit. Some how made it sorta easier to cope just all being hunkered down in that room. To have Ethan kinda pieced back together at least enough that he was home – even if he wasn't exactly all there for a good long while. Some ways Justin still wasn't entirely sure the kid was all there. Or at least not in the way he was when he was just a little shit. But he guessed that him and Pop weren't exactly all there anymore with Ma gone either – and they hadn't had their brains smeared across the pavement.

But then Justin had decided … he didn't even know what he decided. That they were out of the shitstorm? That he was pissed at dad? That he missed mom? That he just wanted to fucking be dead too? He didn't know what all had been going through his head. He didn't much want to think about it or reflect on it. Not yet. But he did know that he started to really take his own slide then. Coming home even less. Not being there at night for the fucking blank-eyed space case seven-year-old. Or Pop. Just finding ways to get into trouble and make things harder for all of them. Until he'd really fucked it up for all of them.

Ethan cautiously trudged over, now, though. He gave him nearly a disbelieving look that this was even being allowed. Like he was going to wail on him or roll him out of the bed the second he lay down. But Justin just kept holding the blanket up and Ethan carefully got in – rolling onto the side that wasn't all bunged up. Justin tucked the covers around his little bro and then lay back on his back – trying to find some way to make the bed comfortable now that neither of them really had no place to move.

"Why you think we were talking about ya?" he asked.

He didn't want to lie to the kid and say they weren't talking about him. Obviously they were fucking talking about him. But they'd talked about other shit too. Dad mostly. But also work and life and just how shit was going. Sure wasn't much casual chit-chat, though. But this wasn't some sort of casual visit.

"'Cuz Erin's real mad too," Ethan said flatly.

Justin rolled his head and gazed at the kid. He couldn't see much of him. He was up on his side and giving across the room at the piles of boxes that now occupied the space. Likely made the whole situation seem that much more foreign to the poor kid. Like he wasn't wanted there even more. Barely twelve and his room is already packed up like he'd never really belonged there? That's some tough shit to swallow. Hell, seeing it all packed up was weird enough for Justin – and he wasn't some little kid.

"Hey, look at me," he said and pulled at the kid's bicep until he rolled on his back and gave him a brief look before setting his eyes on the slats of the bunk above them. "No one's mad at you," Justin stressed firmly. "Everyone's just real upset. Disappointed."

"That's worse," Ethan said sadly.

"Yea, it is fucking worse," Justin agreed. "But it means that you've got people who care 'bout ya and are worried 'bout ya."

Ethan turned and gazed at him at that. He seemed to think for a long time. "Do you really like the army?" he asked quietly.

Justin gave a shrug. "I don't know, Eth. I think it's good for me. It's opening some doors for me. Going to get me into a position to better take care of my family. That's all good things."

Ethan let out a slow breath. "Dad will likely send me there too," he finally said.

Justin gave him a thin smile. "Little Man, you don't got to worry 'bout that for like six years. At least. Lots of time to get back on Pop's good side."

"Military school," Ethan injected with some force. "He says no one will want me but military school."

Justin sighed and rubbed at his face. "Yea, well, try not to worry 'bout that too much yet either. I don't think Pop's has made any decisions about what he's doing yet. If he had – he'd be doing them. And, Eth, you're going to have to just trust that Pops is making the right decision for what's best for ya. I know it's going to be fucking hard to see it that. Believe me. But, Dad knows what he's doing, OK? And, he'll get shit set up in a way that works out."

"I don't want to go to military school," Ethan said in a voice that nearly sounded like he was going to cry.

Justin gave him a look. "Where you don't want to go is juvie," he said forcibly. "And, with some of the shit you're pulling …" he shook his head. "You're going to be walking a fine line if you don't get your act together, Eth. And, trust me, you don't want to go to jail. Even if it's fucking kiddie jail."

"You were OK," Ethan said quietly.

Justin shook his head and gazed upward. "No, Eth, I wasn't fucking OK and the whole thing just wasn't OK. Getting out wasn't OK. I mean, forget me, look what kind of shit it got you and Dad into too. You can't be toeing the line, Kid. Pop had to call in a lot of his favors to try to help me – and he doesn't have many left hanging out there anymore if you go and get yourself into some real stupid shit. And, even then for all the favors he called and arms he twisted – what'd it fucking get this family? I still went to jail. Dad …" Justin just shrugged. He didn't even know what to say. "And, you shipped off to school. Most of Ma's life insurance money is gone…"

"Mom wouldn't have let him send me away," Ethan said at a whisper, giving him these sad puppy dog eyes that only a fucking twelve year old could truly pull off. Still little enough that he could garner some sympathy without you totally wanting to slap him up the side of the head every chance you got. "Not then and not now neither!"

"If Mom was here a lot would be fucking different," Justin gave him a nod. "But Mom's not here, Eth. And Mom's not coming back. We all have gotta just … figure out how to be now. That's what Mom would want anyways."

"Mom wouldn't want me to go to military school," Ethan said somewhat defiantly. Justin knew the voice. He pulled it all the time. Sometimes he still did. But he was getting whole lot better about it. He'd done some growing up. He thought prison had knocked the last of the snot-nosed kid out of him – but whatever was left Basic and a baby on the way had pretty much dried it up. He had to get his head on straight. It was non-negotiable.

"Maybe," he allowed. "But don't fucking kid yourself if you think Ma wouldn't be pissed at you right now. She'd kick your ass, Eth. Maybe worse than Pop. I know you just got to see mom as her little baby boy. But Ma was a hard-ass too. She was strict. She cracked down on me when I was your age. She didn't take no shit. And I sure as hell wasn't pulling what you pulled with the fighting and the pharmaceuticals and getting fucking expelled at twelve, Eth. And bringing dope home? Seriously, Eth?"

The kid looked at him with those sad eyes again.

"Don't have joints kicking around with, Dad. Are you fucking retarded? Don't come home stoned. Don't come home drunk. Just …" Justin shook his head. "You're twelve. You shouldn't even be doing that shit yet anyways. Just … be a kid. Play Little League. Get some Big Chew."

Ethan squinted at him. There was some anger there.

"Seriously, Ethan. I might have to kick your ass if you don't listen. Forget about Pop. I'll whack you around until you get your head back on straight. I don't have the same guilt about giving you a smack like he does," Justin said and reached to give his head a firm shift too. His little bro just glared at him and jerked his head a way but stayed completely put on the bed. He wasn't moving.

"You and Erin did stupid things too," Ethan muttered. "I know you both smoked and drank. I'm not a little kid—"

"You are a little kid," Justin interrupted him. "And thinking you're allowed to make the same dumbass mistakes as me or Erin just shows how little you are. Don't do shit just because we did. Do fucking better, Ethan. You know better."

Ethan gazed at him and then set his eyes on the bunk bed above them. Justin could see a glint in them.

"Daddy hates me," he said almost at a whisper.

Justin let out a slow breath and rolled back up on his side to look down at the kid – to almost get in his face.

"Dad doesn't hate you," he said firmly.

"Yes, he does," Ethan said and diverted his eyes to try to look elsewhere.

Justin grabbed at his chin, seeming to yank a bit too hard based on how Eth winced, so he let up a bit – but still brought his eyes back to him.

"That's the kind of shit that little kids say, Ethan. And, it's a really fucking stupid thing to say. Pops loves you. He loves all of us a ridiculous amount. He fucking …" Justin shook his head. "He does a whole lot to make sure we're all OK. OK, Ethan? He makes a whole lot of sacrifices for us. I know that's really hard to see and understand when you're still a kid. But trust me there's going to come a point that you realize it and …" he shook his head again. He didn't know how to explain this to a fucking twelve year old. Justin didn't even understand it until recently too. Not really. He couldn't expect his baby brother to really get it. Not yet. "You've just gotta trust me that Pop loves you. This family is everything to him."

"Work's everything to him," Ethan mumbled.

"And he's doing that for us too, Eth. When you're grown-up. When you're a man. You're going to get that. And until you do – you're just going to have to believe me when I say that Pop does right by this family – and he'll do right by you – even if it doesn't feel like it at the time."

Ethan yanked his chin out of Justin's grip and he let him, settling back onto the mattress to stare up above them again.

"You know, none of this shit is easy for Pop either," Justin said carefully and cast Ethan a look. "Losing Mom? His wife?" he shook his head. "That hurts him too. He misses her too."

Ethan gave a little shrug at that.

"Magoo, it ain't just a shrug," Justin said. Ethan met his eyes and he gave him a sad smile. "You know what I think Mom would want you to be doing?"

Ethan blinked at him at that like he was finally getting to the solution about how to fix all this. Justin didn't know about that. But maybe it'd help a bit. At least for the moment.

"Giving Pop a hug once and a while. Telling him that you love him."

Ethan made a noise and looked away again. "He doesn't like that kind of mushy stuff," he muttered.

Justin shrugged. "I think he does more than you think," he said flatly. "And, Eth, he ain't got Mom around to be telling him it anymore. He kinda needs to hear it. He wants to. Deserves it. He wants to be loved and respected. Wanted and needed by his family. It's just the way it works. And, I think he'd prefer to hear it coming out of you rather than me and Erin. And, I think if Mom was here – she'd be wanting you to be the one to take on that responsibility. You giving him a hug. You telling him that you love him."

Ethan just gazed at him. "Well, I can't do that if he's sending me to summer camp and stupid school anyway," he finally muttered.

"You ain't gone yet, are ya?" Justin put back to him. "Kill him with some kindness, Eth. See where it gets you. Pop's a hard ass. But his bark is mostly worse than his bite. At least with us. We're the lucky ones that way."

Ethan rolled back onto his side and gathered some of the blankets more tightly around him. "I don't feel very lucky," he said quietly.

Justin looked at him for a moment. "Trust me, Magoo. You really are. You have no fucking idea."


	17. Common Courtesy

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Ethan jumped as the key twist in the apartment door. The way he startled actually made Erin startle and she sat up straighter – nearly as straight as him, as he withdrew from where he'd curled up with his head resting on her knee as he stared at the television.

"Relax," Erin told him gently but he looked at her with some fear, as clear pleading for her to turn off the TV and even pretend they hadn't been watching.

She hadn't actually been watching, though. She'd just had it on for Ethan. It made babysitting easier. Let him look watch some stupid show while she just kept him company. She had been more absorbed with staring at her phone than staring at the screen. Jay had been texting her. Flirting really. Somewhere between flirting and trying to rather indiscreetly dig for information about what was going on with her and Hank and Ethan. Fit together pieces that he really didn't need to know about.

Watching Ethan for Hank that night had been relatively uneventful. She wasn't stupid enough to actually think that would be what every night would look like if Hank did agree to try having Ethan home for a while. Ethan was still grounded. He was still sort of being on his best behavior considering everything. He didn't have clubs or sports or homework that she needed to supervise really. She'd basically gone to Hank's place, retrieved the kid and then taken him all the way back downtown to go to boxing. She'd vaguely watched him do that for a bit. Got bored and went and did her own work out until the kid's lesson thing was done. They'd stopped and gotten a box of macaronni and cheese on the way back to her place – because she didn't cook anything like Hank and because it was what Ethan said he wanted to eat. She'd made that while he nosed around her living room and then she'd handed him a heaping bowl and the television remote. They basically hadn't moved since then.

Eventually Ethan had gotten cuddly with her. But Ethan had always been a bit of a cuddle monster. Likely because he was the baby. He'd gotten a lot of attention and cuddles when he was little. He'd pretty definitely been lacking in it lately, though. About the only physical touch the kid had had in months was likely having the shit beaten out of him. She wasn't sure if Hank had given his son a hug yet. Maybe. Maybe not. Could go either way. Hank gave decent hugs but they were few and far between and they definitely weren't cuddly. It was more like a crushing bear grip. But there was something comforting about them. Sometimes you needed a hug like that from your dad. For overprotective dad-like figure as her case may be.

But Ethan had clearly wanted more of the mothering cuddles than a dad crushing you hug. Erin didn't mind obliging. Baby brother had always been kind of cute – even when he was a pain. And, he was a little sucky. He seemed a little sucky that night too. She thought the reality of the situation and the limbo of his current status was starting to set in. Not to mention the bruising and the ribs were at the point that they'd moved beyond pain to just that unrelenting ache and sore feeling that didn't feel like it was going anywhere quickly. He was sore and worried and tired and bored all wrapped up into one. He wanted to be doted on a bit – even if he was still in the dog house. He could be in Hank's dog house. Erin didn't have the energy to keep him in hers. She just wanted him to smarten up. She thought he'd been knocked around enough the past few days he was definitely at least given that a try.

So she'd just sat absent-mindedly twirling one of his stray locks that was peeking out from under his beanie. Occasionally she'd retrieve her hand to reply to Jay. She'd randomly check the nothingness on social media that she didn't give a shit about. She'd played more fucking mindless games than she wanted to admit but it was still more interesting than Eth's TV show.

She watched her door as it opened and Hank stepped inside, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his leather jacket.

"Coulda knocked, Hank," she told him.

"Mmm," he allowed, clearly scoping out her place. It'd been a good while since the last time he'd been inside. He usually was only over if he was dropping off some file from work that he wanted her to look at overnight. He'd been around a few times when Justin had first gotten out. But for a social call? That just didn't happen. If they were going to spend time together outside of work it was almost always on his turf – the house. Or sometimes he'd take her out for a bite. "There something in here I'm not supposed to see that you need advanced notice of my entrance?"

Erin rolled her eyes. "More like it's common curtsey," she called at him.

He grunted at that again and still kept on strolling slowly into the place. He stopped at the top of the hallway and gazed into the like alcove that served as her bedroom.

"We're out here, Hank," she said a bit more sternly.

He gave her and glance and then pointed into the bedroom area. "So this where I'm not supposed to be looking?"

Erin just shook her head at him and looked away. He could be fucking incorrigible sometimes.

"Got a boy hiding in the closet?" Hank almost teased. As much as Hank ever teased.

"The only boy in here is yours, Hank," she put to him. "And he's sitting right here," she said and pointed at Ethan, who gave his father a timid glance.

"Mmm," Hank allowed and again gazed into the room – though he did have enough respect not to actually go into her bedroom.

Erin was sort of glad for that. She thought she'd done a pretty good quick job at swiping things off her bedside tables and into the drawers when she'd realized she'd left crap out that she didn't exactly want Ethan to be seeing. Her old teenaged self bedroom at Hank and Camille's place – Ethan could go through what he wanted. Look at every bookshelf and dig through every drawer. In her grown-up apartment? In her bedroom? Not so much.

If Hank was going to find something she didn't want him to see – it likely would be in the bedroom. He wouldn't find a boy in the closet but if he was fucking nosey enough he likely could find some indication that she'd had a man in her bed in the not so distant past. Not that that should come as any sort of shock to him – but it sure as fuck wasn't something she wanted to get into with him. That was off-limits and she really hated when he pulled the overprotective dad bit with her. Or worse, decided to suggest that her having a sex life or being interested in having anything that resembled a relationship was an indication that she'd rather 'play house' than be in Intelligence. With him under stress with Ethan he was more than likely to find ways to pick at her too and she so wasn't down with dealing with that bullshit.

He wandered away from the entranceway finally and looked at the walls. "You got the prints up," he said, pointing at some of frames on her wall.

"Yeah," she allowed. Clearly it'd been even longer since he'd been in the apartment than she had thought. Those things had been up for months.

He slowly strolled over to the kitchen area, scrutinizing the dirty dishes she'd left in the sink from dinner – not bothering to wash them off or put them in the dishwasher. The pot was even still sitting on the stove. It definitely wasn't Hank's standard of clean and tidy. But Hank's place was a fucking museum. Spotless. He was almost obsessive compulsive about it. Everything had its fucking place in the place. And the kitchen? You didn't leave anything out in the kitchen. Ever. The way her place looked now might as well be 'roach infested from his perspective. He cast her a look that said as much but she refrained from giving him a reaction.

He stared at the pot on the stove. "What'd you have for dinner?" he asked.

"Mac and cheese," Erin said flatly, quickly growing tired of the interrogation.

"Healthy," he put back to her with a small glare as he came around the island and his eyes finally set on Ethan.

Ethan had been doing his best to avoid eye contact – and any sort of wrath he might incur for having the television on. Though, he wasn't watching it now. He had taken great interest in staring at her floor.

"It was what he said he'd eat," Erin provided.

Hank made another grunting sound of acknowledgement that was clearly unimpressed, as he jammed his hands farther in his pocket and gazed at the screen like he was somehow interested in what was on it.

"We put hot dogs and ketchup in it," Ethan offered quietly.

Hank cast him a look and then moved his eyes to her. "Oh, well, now it sounds like you had all the food groups," he said.

Erin just looked at the ceiling and shook her head at him, crossing her arms. She got it. He'd decided he was going to lose his mind about Ethan's diet. Hank always had to have something to lose his mind about when it came to his kids. And, right now – it was going to be this. And, someone was going to have hell to pay for it. Until he got the opportunity to get someone fired or worse at the fucking school – it was going to be those around him that got to take the brunt of it. And, since it'd been her who was tasked with feeding his kid that night, it got to be her who had to listen to the bullshit.

OK. She heard him. Ethan needed to eat. And he needed to get some nutritionally balanced meals into him. Some vitamins and nutrients and protein and something that wasn't chocolate milk or corn chips. Message received. But Hank was conveniently deciding to forget that his fucking kid was as picky as fuck when it came to eating and he always had been. Ethan said he'd eat hot dogs and mac and cheese. So she made him hot dogs and mac and cheese. Because that was convenient and easy – and it meant he'd fucking eat it. She wasn't going to slave over the stove to make some bullshit meal that neither of them were interested in. Besides, she'd rather spend time with her baby brother than cook for him.

"What we watching?" Hank asked and pointed at the screen.

Ethan really sunk into the couch at that and cast her an accusing look.

"Prehistoric Fight Club," Erin provided to him sharply and with dead seriousness. She hadn't treated it seriously when Ethan had picked it and presented the name to her. She'd actually laughed and mocked him – and the ridiculously bad CGI dinosaurs doing some sort of make believe supposedly likely battles on the screen. It was boring. And stupid. Dinosaur fight after dinosaur fight. Who besides twelve year old boys would actually want to watch that? Apparently they thought they had a cornered market, though, because it seemed like they were running a fucking marathon of the damn show.

"Mmm," Hank nodded again and looked at Ethan. "You getting pointers?" Ethan just moved his eyes back to the ground, ignoring the question. "You supposed to be watching TV?"

Erin sat up a bit straighter. "My house, my rules," Erin put to him sharply – repeating a sentiment that Hank liked to spout way too much.

He gave her a glance. "Oh, that how it works?"

"Yeah, Hank, it is," she said. "You asked me to babysit –"

He cocked his head at her. "It counts as babysitting when it's your brother, huh?" She glared at him. "See, that's not how I thought it worked with family either."

Erin just shook her head at him. "What'd you want us to do, Hank? Sit here and stare at each other?"

He just made another vocal acknowledgement that she'd spoken but didn't engage.

"Erin said you wouldn't care as long as I didn't pick baseball," Ethan piped up.

"Ethan!" she snapped and gaped at him. The kid really needed to learn when not to fucking repeat things and to just keep his mouth shut. He just gave her confused and innocent eyes, though. She shook her head and ran her hand through her hair. "Jesus Christ, the two of you," she muttered.

Hank eyed her for a moment. Some days she really wanted to smack him. He could be such a pain in the ass. A far bigger one than Ethan. Maybe having to work with him and play house with him to try to give Ethan a 'normal' summer was a shitty idea. She wasn't sure she could do both. Trying to might drive her to do something stupid. At least if she had to deal with this kind of bullshit posturing.

"A game on?" he asked passively and slouched off his jacket, tossing it over the back of one of her stools at the island.

"The Sox," Ethan said somewhat indignantly.

Hank allowed him a face that showed some agreement but jabbed his thumb toward the TV. "Even that has to be better than this," he provided and moved toward the couch, claiming the opposite end from them. "Who they playing?"

"The Twins," Ethan said cautiously.

Hank gave a little nod and then looked at his son seriously. "So, get it switched up," he ordered flatly.

Ethan's eyes lit up a bit and he leaned forward to claim the remote and got the channels switched. He sat a little restlessly on the edge of the couch, giving Erin a look like he expected that to be snatched away from him and the TV turned off quickly.

She gave him a more serious look, though and a little shove. He looked at her a little hurt.

"Stop crowding me," she said. "Go sit with your dad."

Hank was giving him another inch. Ethan should fucking take it. Show some appreciation. Start claiming back some of his dignity as the limits got readjusted and reestablished. But he clearly needed some coaching on how to do that.

Ethan moved himself a bit more into the central cushion of the couch and gave Hank a cautious glance but his dad was staring at the screen now. The Twins were up by six. The Sox didn't likely have a chance in hell of catching up. It didn't make for a very interesting game. But it did make for a likely happy ending in the Voight household. Not that Hank likely cared either way. He wasn't much of a sports nut. And, that night he just looked tired. Hank always looked a little bedraggled, though. Sometimes it was hard to tell when it was fatigue and when it was just him. In some ways she didn't think Hank ever really truly slept. Just like he never seemed to get sick. He played the robot role pretty well.

"Did you actually want something to drink or eat, Hank?" Erin offered, having some pity on him.

"What you got?" he asked flatly, without pulling his eyes away from the screen.

Erin nudged Ethan's shoulder again. "Go grab a couple bottles."

He looked at her like that took a minute to register but then stood and wandered over to the fridge, coming back with two bottles of beer. She handed on to her and held out one to his dad.

Hank leaned forward to grab it and as he did so, he wrapped his arm around Ethan's waist and pulled him down onto the couch next to him. Ethan struggled against him for a moment but then settled, as Hank adjusted his arm around him and twisted the cap off the beer, bringing it up to his mouth and taking a long gulp from it. Ethan seemed to settle against him at that, as Hank held him in a lose hug, letting the kid lean against him, patting lightly at his stomach. It made Erin smile a bit. She didn't know if either of them realized that that was a holdover from what Ethan as just a baby. She distinctly remembered Hank holding him and rubbing his big strong hand in gently circles on the infant's tummy as he sucked on a bottle, supposedly helping him settle and digest. Hank's hands were almost as big as Ethan back then. Ethan was a lot bigger now – but still small – and the hands looked just a firm and comforting against him. There must've been something familiar about it for Ethan, though, because he really did seem to relax and sunk against his dad more, letting his head rest against his shoulder and they both stared rather blankly at the TV.

Erin smiled thinly and took a sip of her own beer.

Ethan must've tensed slightly at either a touch – Hank's hand brushing across one of his fractured ribs – or maybe even whatever happened on screen. But there was enough of a noticeable jump out of the boy that both his dad and Erin glanced at him. Hank seemed to eye him a bit more carefully and then reached shifting his kid's beanie up a bit and put what couldn't exactly be called a kiss but was definitely his lips pressing super briefly near the hairline at the top of Ethan's forehead.

"You're OK," Hank told him rather quietly.

Ethan gave a little nod and kept looking at the screen. It must've been a rib that Hank hit – not the strike on screen.

Hank pulled the beanie right off him next, though, and Ethan made a little sound.

"Enough with this damn thing," Hank said flatly and tossed it onto the coffee table.

"We aren't in the house," Ethan said meekly.

"You're inside," Hank provided.

Ethan made another small sound and reached, now briefly touching the exposed place where an ear should be but wasn't and then reaching and gathering the hood of his shirt up to try to hide some of it from view. But Hank reached and moved his hand away, pressing the hood back into a more natural place.

"No," he said flatly and then leaned forward slightly to find his son's eyes. "Enough of that. We aren't going to do that anymore."

"I don't like people seeing," Ethan said quietly. "They look."

"Let them look," Hank said sternly. "You covering it up gives all the little pricks ammunition, E. It makes them think that that's your weak spot. That's their fucking target. Their reason. You aren't going to give them that anymore. You're going to wear who you are out there. Stop being ashamed of it."

Erin wasn't sure Ethan could hear what Hank was saying there. If it'd resonate. Especially at that age. Kids placed a lot on appearances. And, the thing Ethan knew was he looked different and that other kids judged him on that. That they teased him about that. That they avoided him because of it. Or asked questions or said things that made him uncomfortable. Or they pointed and laughed. He likely was legitimately ashamed of it. Hated it. Wanted it to disappear from his body. Wanted to be complete again. Wanted to see the little boy with the big ears from his preschool photos. He didn't get that the kids would've made fun of those big ears just as much as they did a missing one. It wasn't all about the scars.

"You're ashamed of it," Ethan whispered.

Hank shook his head. "No, I'm not," he provided. "What I don't like is my kid hurting," he said. "I don't care about this." He put his fingers gently on the puckered flesh. Ethan visibly tensed and Hank moved his fingers away, instead cupping his son's head against him. "Watch the game," he near whispered and just kept gently massaging at Ethan's head.

"You behave for your sister?" Hank asked quietly after a while.

"Yes," Ethan replied quietly.

"He was fine," Erin gave in small support.

Hank nodded. "How was boxing?"

"Good," Ethan allowed.

"Think you're liking it?" his dad asked.

"Yeah," Ethan said.

"Good," Hank said. "It will be good for you."

And, they went back to their silence. Their staring at the game. And Erin found her eyes drifting back to watching Hank's fingers lightly trace at the scar of the skull injury. Over and over his hand traced the path. But with each slow swipe, Ethan seemed to curl against his dad more and more. She didn't think Hank even realized that his fingers were now tracing over the hairless line that encircled Ethan's head – yet another scar and reminder of what had happened. But maybe they all needed to stop treating it as a reminder and treat it more like a part of Ethan. Maybe this was somehow a first step?


	18. Level Out

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

"Hank," Olinsky said flatly with a nod to his colleague as they both headed through the rear door.

Voight allowed a little nod of recognition. "Alvin," he allowed.

Olinsky usually went through the front in the morning but the fact of the matter was that he'd timed his arrival that day to coincide with when he expected Voight to appear. He'd been observing the on-goings the past few days. He wasn't much for chit-chat – especially personal chit-chat – but he could see that Voight was distracted. Hank and distracted didn't do well. Usually meant he was seething about something and that seething usually went on to manifest itself on the job in some way. Sometimes it was good police work. Sometimes it was some guy beaten senseless in the cage. Not that the guy in the cage didn't deserve it. It was just that Alvin usually got to spray down the mess. Given the circumstances behind this seething, he didn't really think clean up duty was warranted. Nosey girl-talk about all their life's problems was likely a better work. Though, their girl talk didn't look so much like girl talk.

He'd known Voight too long. Most of his career in Chicago PD. The number of times they talked about their family? He could likely count it on one hand. They'd both gone through shit with their wives, their kids, their parents. Births, divorces, deaths. Fucking kids doing stupid-ass, pain in the ass things. Boyfriends. Girlfriends. Sticking your dick where it should've never been stuck. But they just didn't talk about it much.

Camille. Justin. Fucking little Ethan's head getting splattered across concrete. There was a lot they could've talked about. They didn't talk about it, though. One night they'd gone for a ride, though. But they didn't talk about that either. About the closest they'd ever talked about any of it was Alvin going to Camille's funeral and him stopping into the hospital when Ethan was still in there. Once. Just once. It was fucking clear that Hank didn't want his boys on display then – especially Ethan. The kid was still fucking bandaged to hell at that point. This fucking little unconscious mound in this giant hospital bed. He looked dead and Hank was stuck their keeping vigil. He'd left twice as far as Alvin knew. The funeral and that ride they took.

"Good night?" Alvin put to him flatly, removing the toothpick from his mouth. "With Ethan," he added and gave Hank a look.

Hank eyed him for a moment but then allowed a nod. "Yeah," he said and kept walking. "Watched the game."

"Game on last night?" Olinsky asked.

"Sox," Voight provided. "Six-one."

Al nodded. "Sounds about right." Hank just made a sound of acknowledgement. "Kid still all about baseball?"

That'd been something that wasn't a secret about Ethan. Of the very limited things that Hank ever mentioned about his family.

"Mmm," Hank allowed and then gave him a look that actually had some fatherly pride to it. "Had him training with the junior varsity up at school. You believe that?"

Alvin gave him a thin smile at that. "Must have an arm," he said.

Hank grunted a bit. "Good range but he's a fast little bugger. They give him hell about his arm, though. Jerk him around on what position they should be developing him in."

"Southpaw, right?" Alvin said.

"Mmm," Hank allowed again.

"He looked good, though," Alvin provided. "The other day when he was in." Hank gave him eyes at that. "Beyond looking like a punching bag."

Hank looked away from at that. Clearly indicating that he wasn't going to get details on what the hell was going on with the kid. Didn't matter. He didn't much want or need them. Didn't take a lot of fill in the blanks anyways. The kid had gotten in the fight. He'd clearly been at least suspended. Given some of the tension that was going on in the bullpen and some of the bullshit that Lindsay had had the stupidity to go tearing into Voight's office with – he figured it was more like the kid was expelled and Hank was more in a figuring out what the hell to do with him mode.

It was a tough call. Olinsky had dealt with suspensions with Lexi. Negotiating that was difficult enough. But he had her mother to sort it out with. They could share being the bad guys and the disappointment and just making sure someone had eyes on her. Though, clearly they didn't do a 100 per cent job on that considering some of the trouble Lexi got herself into. She was a good kid, though. His biggest blessing. Best thing in his life. Couldn't imagine being without her.

"Junior varsity," Alvin allowed and shook his head, trying to punch on that flicker of pride he'd seen in Voight for a moment.

Hank bit giving him a look and poking him in the chest. "He's twelve," he said again with that small brag to his tone.

Alvin raised his eyebrow. "Twelve," he allowed. "Fuck, time goes by quick."

"Mmm," Hank allowed at that, giving a nod.

"Lexi's starting to talk college," Alvin said. "How's that? Don't know where that time went."

"Mmm," Hank allowed again and shook his head.

Sometimes time just disappeared. Alvin didn't know how he had a kid that was almost done school. Hell, hard to believe that Voight had kids in their twenties. That the guy's fucking baby boy – a fucking baptism he'd been to – now was a fucking stone's through from his teens and high school. Some days it seemed like all of it just disappeared into a void. Work. The job. Family. The kids. Just this big black hole that you had to fight to make sure there was the distinction and the formed memories and not just the darkness all collected in one giant blob.

"Yea, likely going to do a couple road trips over the summer. Take a look at some of the schools she's thinking on," he said.

Hank just nodded at that.

"But, hey, having Ethan home this summer, that should be fun, right?" he said and gave his shoulder a small tap.

Hank cast him a warning glance. Olinsky decided to ignore it. He knew when you'd crossed too far over lines with Voight. He hadn't done that yet.

Besides, he knew what Voight was like when he was a family man versus when he was going home to an empty house. Olinsky knew the dangers of having too much alone time and spending too much time at the job. He'd dabbled in it as long as Hank and crawled about as far into the bottom of a bottle too.

Voight was a good cop. He was a better one when he'd had Camille and Justin and Erin at home. The guy had reached a new level of unhinged since Camille was gone and then since the kids were out of the house. His whole situation got even more complicated after Justin ended up in jail and then Hank got himself embroiled with IA and he shipped Ethan off to the fucking boondocks. Olinsky really didn't care about Hanks' family business or how he dealt with it. That was his business. What he did care about, though, was when he got dragged into handling the repercussions of it. And Voight asking him to get on Intelligence – sure, he liked that – but it meant that he was getting exposed to some of Hank's dirty laundry and cleaning it up a bit more than he wanted to. Sometimes washing it all out was getting harder and harder. And Al had his own kid and family to think about too.

Olinsky kind of thought that Ethan being around for a bit might level out Hank a bit. Bring some calm to some of the bullshit they dealt with at work. Hell, the guy even going home a little more and not being out hustling his contacts all the time. Sort of counterintuitive but that might help them all out too. They all needed fucking downtime. Something to bring you back to Earth. Al knew that Lex did that for him. Maybe Ethan could do that for Hank for a bit.

"Yeah, get him out on the water," Olinsky said. "Cast a few lines." Hank's look was a little more warning. "Take him up to Lake Geneva? That's where you and Camille used to take the kids, right?"

Hank eyed him but then gave a small nod and mounted the steps, clearly indicating that the conversation was just about over. They both had a policy that after you got to the top of those stairs – you were at work. That's where your head was at – 100 per cent. Or else you were going to get yourself killed. You were going to get other people killed. Inside – that was your job. It wasn't a place for chit-chat and family.

Though, Alvin thought they both knew that it never worked out quite that way. But it was a good philosophy.

"Likely only going to be here a couple weeks," Hank sad flatly. "Summer camp."

He started punching his code into the panel and scanned his hand.

"Oh, yeah?" Alvin allowed. "Well, you know, if you're tied up and need some help keeping his ass in line, Lexi could use the babysitting dollars. College fund."

Hank cast him a glance as he started to mount the stairs. "OK," he provided. "I'll keep that in mind."

Alvin gave a small nod and knocked Hank on the shoulder as he passed him on the stairs. "Hey, you know Eddie Melvin?"

Hank gave him a look. "Yea, I know Eddie."

"You hear they got him on D.L.?"

"Yea," Hank said flatly.

Alvin nodded and casted him a look. "Seeing as the brass has left him with all this extra time on his hands, coaching his kid's Little League team this summer. Bit of the Bad News Bears, apparently," he said. He could see Hank's glare but Olinsky just shrugged. "Something else to keep in mind. You know, if summer camp don't work out."

He turned and trotted up the rest of the stairs. Figured his unsolicited opinion on the whole situation was clear enough at that.

 _Deal with your fucking kid, Hank. And maybe cheer up some while you're at it._


	19. The Story

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Jay suddenly realized that he wasn't just being a watcher. He was being watched and he pulled his eyes away from watching the battered, scrawny runt of a kid trip over a skipping rope on the opposite side of the gym. He turned to see that Antonio had stopped his workout on the bag and was instead looking at him.

"So what's the story with that?" Jay asked and gestured across the gym again. Might as well since he'd been caught.

"What?" Dawson asked and squinted across the gym for a moment, using the back of his gloved hand to try to dab some sweat away from dripping into his eyes. "Voight's kid?" He just shrugged and hit at the bag a couple more times. "Brought him in a few days. Wanted us to put him through a few drills. Get him started on some of the basics."

Halstead allowed a little nod but had gone back to watch the kid. "What happened to his face?"

"Didn't ask," Dawson said. "Just assumed it had something to do with Voight bringing him in." He stopped his jabs. "Hey, I think it's great, man. I wanted to get Diego in her but Laura insisted wait until he's ten and now …" he gave another shrug at that. "But it's good. Kids these days – need somewhere to stay out of trouble and need to know some moves for then they do get into it."

"Yeah," Halstead allowed but then cast him a look. "Not that side of his face," he said and nodded his head in the direction again.

Dawson let out a little sigh and moved to sit with Jay on the bench. He used the towel to dab at his brow and then focused adjusting his wrist wraps.

"Suspect that side of his face has to do with the other side of the face looking the way it does right now," he allowed.

"OK," Halstead allowed. "But the kid's missing an ear. What the fuck happened?"

Dawson cast him a look. "Asking too many questions about this likely isn't too bright," he said.

Halstead cast him a look. "Before Tuesday if you even know Voight had another kid?"

Dawson shrugged. "Yeah," he allowed, tightening the material around his wrists even more.

"Yeah? It's just … common knowledge? We've been working this unit together for how many months? And Voight's never mentioned him. Erin's never mentioned him."

"Publicizing kids and family too much in our line of work is a bit of a liability there, Halstead," Dawson said.

Jay made a sound and rolled his eyes. He really fucking hated sometimes that most of the unit got on some sort of high horse when it came to fucking kids and fucking family. Like he didn't have a clue about what either meant or what ends you'd go to protect them. That he didn't have some kind of realistic perspective about what it was like or the way it worked just because he wasn't married or in a relationship or had any kids on the way. Sometimes it felt like all of them fucking rode it. Even Ruzek – and Ruzek wasn't any kind of moral compass when it came to doing relationships right.

"If you're so interested – saw Lindsay," Dawson said flatly.

Jay was back to eyeing the kid. "I have. She clammed up."

"Then maybe if Voight and Erin don't want to play Twenty Questions with you about it, you should take that a hint," Dawson told him bluntly.

Halstead gave him a longer look. "What's his story, Dawson?" he asked more bluntly.

He was so sick of the patronizing. So sick that because he didn't have as many years as them and didn't have the same fucking collective memory of a family spending generations in Chicago PD to know all the fucking rumors and gossip and dirty laundry – so that meant he just didn't get to know what the fuck was going on with his own fucking unit? Or he had to really play Intelligence officer and go digging. Thing was when it came to digging into anything about Voight there were a whole lot of smokescreens and firewalls in the way to getting any real information.

"Sure you can figure out what you're asking if you go digging into the Sun Times," Antonio provided.

Jay cocked his head at him. "Antonio, c'mon," he said. He was getting sick of this.

Dawson finally let out a sigh and moved just slightly closer to him on the bench. "He got bunged up in the same accident that killed Voight's wife," he put flatly.

Jay shrugged. "OK. But it's Voight – so there's more to that story."

Antonio pawed the towel around his face again and looked at Halstead seriously. "All I know is there's what the papers say, there's what the case files say, and then there's what you hear."

"So give me the Coles Notes," Jay said.

Antonio let out a sigh and looked at him for several long seconds. "It wasn't just an accident. Voight's wife got shot while at the wheel. It looked like a stray bullet at first. That they'd just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. But it was pretty apparent that it was a gangland hit pretty quick. She was targeted – or rather Voight was targeted."

Jay let that sink it for a moment. That sort of explained a lot about Voight. A lot about Erin. Just … a lot. And fuck? That's some really scary shit. The sort of thing you don't even want to imagine happen to your family. Cops getting targeted is one thing. But targeting their families? That was another.

"So what's the rest of it?" Halstead asked carefully.

Antonio shrugged and looked at the ground. "She lost control of the car when she got hit. Skidded into an intersection. Truck breezing through on the green. Hit them. They figure she died on impact. Ethan," Antonio said and cast a look across the gym to the kid. "Somehow he was thrown from the car. If the impact didn't kill him – that toss – is should've. The kid was just … spread across the street as far as I hear it. Gabby …" he muttered. "Some of the paramedics. They still talk about the scene." He shook his head and gave Jay a look. "Voight got to the scene not long after the first responders. Seeing his wife …" Antonio just shook his head like it was beyond imagination. "The car was just mangled. And his youngest? They're picking up pieces of the kid off the road. No one expected him to survive." He gave Halstead a firm look. "When a man sees his wife and his little boy like that," he said sternly and pointed a bit at Halstead like he just didn't know and he just better get in line. "I can't even imagine, and I can imagine," he said.

"They ever figure out who ordered it? Get him?" Halstead said after letting Dawson lean forward on his knees and stare at the floor to a good long time. He seemed far too lost in thought – to the point that Jay thought he wasn't going to get the rest of the story.

Antonio glanced at him and pulled his towel off his shoulder, tossing it as the bench as he rose.

"Case file is technically still open," he allowed, as he stepped back to the bag. "But I don't think anyone is working too hard on it."

Halstead watched him hit at the fast bag for a bit while he let that sink in. "So you're saying that Hank took another trip down to the docks?" he demanded with a touch of anger.

Antonio reached up and stopped the bag. "I don't know anything about that," he said sternly. "All I know is that some of the names from around then – you don't hear so much about them anymore. And some of them haven't been seen around for a long time either."

Halstead leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees – his head in his hands as he tried to process that. He felt a deep anger about it. Rage even. The entire concept just wasn't something he could relate to. He hated that he seemed to work under a man that could. That he cared about a woman who seemed to turn a blind eye to it too. That this? She must've known about this.

"And you're OK with this too?" Jay finally muttered.

Antonio looked down at Jay. "I don't know what happened," he said. "Could be that the guy is still out there."

"Bullshit," Jay spat.

Dawson let out a little sigh. "Look, I try not to judge other cops," he said. "It ain't my job to be Voight's judge and jury."

"Oh, but he gets to be judge and jury for who? For how many people?"

Antonio gave a small shrug. "Eventually we all have to answer to someone or something. Voight will too. But, I don't know, if I was in Voight's situation—"

"You were in Voight's situation," Halstead seethed out. "They had Pulpo on the docks and you said you didn't want that on your conscience."

"That's not the same situation," Dawson countered. "If Pulpo killed my wife. If he physically maimed my kid," he shook his head. "Maybe even now – if I'd known that I wouldn't be getting to go home to my wife and kids each night. There's a lot to be said about being able to tell your family they're safe, Jay. A whole fucking lot. And as the man of the house – the head of the family – you're accountable for that. Some day you'll get that."

Jay stood abruptly and started to storm across the gym. "Yeah, maybe some day I'll get that," he muttered.

"Leave him alone, Halstead," Dawson called at him.

Halstead just shook his head and near tromped over to where the kid was now sitting working at peeling his wrist wraps off and getting them rolled back up in perfect little rolls. He seemed to being really picky about it – making sure everything was all lined up just perfectly.

Jay found himself initially glaring at the kid but softened a bit watching it – suddenly realizing that this was just a little kid and even if it was Voight's kid, it wasn't like how he felt about Voight had anything to do with this kid. It wasn't his fault.

"Hey," Jay said and sat down next to the kid. The kid gave him a suspicious look and then turned his eyes to go back to looking at his work on the wrist wraps. "I'm Jay," he added. "Halstead. I work with your dad."

The kid cast him a small glance again but then quickly diverted his eyes. He seemed kind of squirrely.

"Good work out?" Jay asked. The kid just shrugged. "Your dad coming to pick you up?"

"No, I am," he heard just to the right up him and looked to see Erin standing there and giving him a glare. She reached and gave the shoulder of the kid's shirt a small tug. "Eth, go grab your things. Quick."

The kid gave her a look and then gave him another glance and stood, moving over to the locker area.

Halstead looked back to Erin. She stood glaring at him with crossed arms.

"I asked you to leave it alone," she told him sternly.

He just gave her a look. "What? I said 'hi'."

"If Voight wanted you saying hi – he'd be in the bullpen."

"He's been in the bullpen," Halstead put to her flatly.

"For two minutes," she spat at him and then shook her head, gazing across the gym. Halstead did too, watching the kid fiddling with the locker. Seemed like he wasn't even strong enough to get the latch to go. "Just leave it alone, Jay," she said, bringing her eyes back to him a little more pleadingly. "Hank's got enough on his plate right now. He doesn't need you playing some sort of detective—"

"Why should I need to play detective about his kid?"

"You don't," Erin put flatly. "He's just a little kid. He's Hank's kid. You don't need to know his life story. It's none of your business—"

"If Voight—"

"It's none of your business," Erin stressed more firmly. "And, if you think Hank's overprotective of me – don't cross him about Ethan," she added and then started to walk away.

"Yeah?" Halstead called at her. "Why's that? More skeletons in the 'family' closet?"

Erin gave him a warning look. "He's the baby, Jay," she said. "Popa Bear doesn't like it if you're poking at the cubs."

He let out a sigh and watched as she went and gathered the boy – putting her hand on his shoulder and leading him towards the door, casting him one finally look as they left.

He didn't think Voight liked much of anything and it didn't take much to poke him. Maybe he shouldn't do as much to open himself up to the pokes.


	20. Gifts

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

"Ethan," Hank barked as he heard the front door open. "Get your ass in here."

He could hear the kid let out a sigh even from where he was standing in the kitchen. There was the clear sound of him dropping his backpack to the floor – in the middle of everything and not where it was supposed to be and Erin telling him to move it as she closed the door behind their entrance.

"I only came down for lunch and I wiped the counter like you said," Ethan gave in muttered talk-back as he trudged into the kitchen. But he shut up as he got there.

He stood gazing at the table, his mouth gaping a little bit and his brow furrowing. Hank crossed his arms and watched his kid until Erin came in behind him, putting her hand on his shoulder as she brushed by him and went and sat at the table. Three neatly wrapped birthday gifts sat on the table alongside a tray of cupcakes. Fucking special order and decorated to look like baseballs. Because Camille wasn't much for spoiling the kids either but had insisted they do little things to make memories and to make it special for the kids. Birthdays were one of those things. The fucking cake was important. Or so she'd said. Hank wasn't even sure Ethan liked cake. Ethan liked fucking ice cream. But he had that in the freezer too.

"I'm not singing for you," Hank put to him flatly.

Ethan finally managed to pull his eyes away from the table and gazed at him questioningly. "I thought you forgot," he said a little too quietly.

"Monday I'm dealing with calls from your school about you getting fucking expelled and making arrangements for how to get your ass back here. You think I'm going to be wishing you a happy birthday?"

Erin just looked at him though and gently took her brother's wrist giving it a small tug.

"C'mon, Eth. Sit down," she told him in that way to motherly way that Hank only let her get away with. He knew his boy needed some mothering. Needed a woman in his life to give him some of that softer touch. Thankfully, they had Erin around for that. And she wasn't that soft. Just enough and just as ready to smack his son up the side of the head too. That's what Ethan needed. That's what Camille would've wanted too.

Ethan looked at her for a minute but then stepped to the table and pulled out a chair sitting down. Erin gave his shoulder a little squeeze as he looked a little nervously at the presents – still casting Hank looks like he knew that there had to be some kind of strings tied to all this.

"We were going to come up this weekend," Erin told him. "Until you had to go and be a little dipshit," she added and gave him a small smack to the back of the head.

His head bowed at the gentle blow and it took several beats before he brought up his eyes and gazed at Hank. Kid clearly wasn't entirely sure how he was supposed to be interacting with this. Likely thought his punishment was to sit at the table and look at the presents and not get to open them. That was a pretty lame punishment. Hank could do better than that.

He pointed to the one gift, still staying leaning against the counter. "That one's from your brother and Olive. You start with it."

Ethan eyed it for a moment.

"C'mon, Eth," Erin encouraged. "It's alright. We decided we were going to do this tonight."

He cast her a cautious look but then slowly reached for it and drew it closer to him but didn't immediately open it. Several long beats passed before he finally began to pick at the tape, peeling the wrapping paper off the gift and just holding the box in his hand, staring at it. Erin leaned in a little closer to him in her chair.

"What is it?" she asked, trying to play kind – interested.

She really did take on the big sister role well with Ethan. She always had. From Day One. Hank wasn't sure where it came from. Ensuring her place in the family? An actual affection for the kid? Or just girls and babies? It'd been good, though. He appreciated what she'd done for the boy. She made a good big sister. She'd make a good mother some day. Though, he knew because of her baggage – her own experience with her mother – she didn't think so. But Erin wasn't Bunny.

"An off-roader," Ethan said quietly. "Lego. Technic."

"Whoa, pretty cool," Erin said with some dry enthusiasm. But Ethan just gave a small nod. She nudged his shoulder a little bit. "What? Are you going to tell me you're too old for Lego now?"

"No," he allowed softly. "It's just …. why didn't J give it to me the other night?"

"Because you were still in shit," Hank told him.

Ethan cast him a look. "I'm not in shit anymore?"

Hank made a sound and adjusted his arms across his chest. He was in less shit. Now that he was getting more of the story out of Ethan about what was actually going on, he wasn't quite as fucking enraged at the kid. Still upset that he wasn't honest with him upfront. That they couldn't have dealt with some of this long ago – and made all their lives easier. And there were still lots of things that needed to be dealt with. Lots of things Ethan was going to be held accountable for.

"You're in slightly less shit," Hank told him.

"Justin had just sent it in the mail," Erin clarified, casting Hank a look that clearly told him not to jab at open wounds – like she had some sort of authority on deciding how he managed the evening. She'd sure already done a lot of flapping of the lips when he'd sat her down to talk about how the evening was going to play out. She'd been sure to get her opinions out there. Hank had forced himself to hear her own – because she was going to be a part of it, whatever it was and however long it lasted. But he was only heeding her opinion and requests so much. It was his son – his problem. He'd do this his way. "He knew we were headed up to see you on your birthday. That's all."

"We show appreciation in this house," Hank said more firmly and Ethan's eyes again darted to him. "Your brother and Olive don't have a lot of money to be spending – especially with the baby on the way. You'll call and say thank you."

Ethan gave a little nod and looked at the box. "I like it," he said.

"Good," Hank allowed. He wasn't sure how much the kid liked it. He didn't much care – as long as he said thank you to Olive. Olive was trying really hard to connect with their family. To carve a place for herself and the baby in it. To make sure that they knew she was embracing them as her family – that she wanted to be involved in their lives. And, Hank was allowing it. She was the mother of his grandson. His son's fiancée. She'd be welcomed into the fold – and that meant Ethan would show manners. Besides, he could remember from Justin being that age that he was now full into the phase where it was impossible to get him much of anything he liked or appreciated or wanted. It almost wasn't worth it. Not a little kid anymore, not a teenager yet, and definitely not an adult. But wanting to be all three. It was a losing battle. And, really, with Ethan being in the dog house, he should be happy with anything he was getting. "Open your sister's," Hank instructed, jutting his chin in Erin's direction.

She eyed him – like she was gauging how he was going to play the rest of this – especially if Ethan wasn't going to play along. Hank wasn't too worried about that. Ethan had pretty much settled into the mope of his purgatory at the moment. He wasn't being a pain in the ass. He'd been fairly well behaved since being home. Quiet. Almost too quiet. But he was hurting. He was scared. He was worrying. Hank was letting him be most of those things – though, he was starting to be slightly gentler about it. He wasn't going to give Ethan too much leeway, though. Give an inch and he'd take a mile. Ethan was going to errand it inch by inch.

Erin reached and adjusted the next gift to sitting within Ethan's reach. "There you go," she said and gave him another smile.

Ethan again eyed the present like he didn't much feel like he should be opening any of it. But Hank thought there was some good in him feeling that way. It showed some regret on his part. Some acknowledgement that he'd done something wrong. That he didn't quite deserve any of this – and that it was a little awkward for it to be happening. Let him feel awkward. It'd help him learn from his mistakes.

Still, he finally took the card from the top of the present and opened it. He gazed at the front for what seemed like a little too long to read it but then folded it open. As the pieces of paper fell out, he gave Erin a questioning look but she just gave him a thin smile as he unfolded the print-outs and looked at them. Again, it seemed to take a while for it to register what it was but then his eyes twinkled and he looked at his sister.

"But you hate the museum," he said quietly.

Erin just shrugged and reached to give his shoulder a small squeeze and a little shake. "But I like spending time with you," she told him.

He smiled softly and stared at the prepaid admission. It would've been years since he'd been to the Field Museum. Camille used to take him all the time. All the fucking time. Sometimes to the point that Hank wasn't sure which came first – the dinosaur obsession or the museum trips. Which feed the other. Hank couldn't take him after. It was too much of Camille's domain. He knew Erin had take him once or twice in the years that followed but museums weren't much her thing either and she would've had her own shattered memories attached to the trips. Erin had enough blackened memories to deal with without taking on more.

"Center of the table," Hank finally told Ethan flatly.

His son looked up at him some true upset and disappointment creasing his face. "But—" he started.

But Erin's hand just squeezed at his shoulder tighter. "Listen to your dad," she told him firmly.

Ethan let out a slow shaky sigh. There was a hint that there might be tears behind it. That he knew that all of this was too good to be true and now he really felt like the rug was about to be pulled from under him. That he'd been set up. That he'd just been handed something that reminded him of his mom too – of happy memories but hard memories. Something he wanted to do. Something he wanted to relive and now it was being taken away from him.

But he reached and slowly slid the papers to the center of the table, casting Hank a slightly accusing look and sinking sadly back into his chair. Erin reached and pulled the wrapped gift a bit closer to him.

"C'mon," she encouraged. "Open the present."

He let out a slow sigh. He clearly didn't much want to at that point but also knew there wasn't much point in protesting. He picked it up and again took his time to peel the paper off – gazing at the gift. He didn't say anything. If anything his face seemed a little disappointed. Hank could see Erin eyeing him – measuring his reaction or lack thereof.

She leaned over to him again, looking at the gift. "You know, when I told the clerk that I needed to get something for my little bro who knows everything there is to know about dinosaurs, she said this is the collection to get him." Ethan gave a small nod but just kept gazing at the box. "Eth, c'mon," Erin encouraged and pointed at the cover. "It's a field guide for paleontologists. How cool is that? Even your own tools," she reached and flipped the box over and pointed at the back. "Get to do your own dig. Don't you want to know what fossil you got?"

He gave a little nod. "It's neat," he allowed.

"You could try to be a little more excited about it," she said flatly.

He gave her a shy look a little smile. "I'm excited," he said, but his eyes said otherwise and shifted back to staring at the museum admission tickets at the center of the table. "Thank you."

Hank let him sulk for a moment, sharing a look with Erin as she sat back in her chair. She clearly didn't like how this was going. But there was no way this was going to be happy fun times. It wasn't an average birthday. It was overcast in what happened. What was going to happen. It was tainted.

Hank stepped forward and pushed his parcel to sit in front of Ethan. "There," he said flatly.

Ethan cast him a sad look but didn't put up any argument that time. His eyes clearly said he wanted to get this over with. That he wanted to be granted permission to go upstairs. To again spend the evening in the bedroom – alone and with nothing. That he'd gladly take that over this that night. But again he lifted the envelope and opened it, again contents fell out as he did. The kid hesitantly picked them up and this time stared even longer before giving him an even sadder look.

"Center of the table," Hank told him flatly.

Ethan just lowered his eyes and put the Cubs tickets there without comment. He continued to stare at the card – for a long time and then set it on the table too, staring down at his lap.

"Open it," Hank said.

A breath slowly exhaled from his son's lungs but he did as he was told, once again taking the paper off the box and opening it. He gazed inside and then gently took the cap out, followed by a sealed value pack of baseball trading cards. He set them on the table – again making no move to open any of the packaging or showing no level of excitement.

"Thank you," Ethan said quietly.

"You should look people in the eye when you're talking," Hank said.

Another slow breath flared his son's nostrils but slowly he looked up. "Thank you," he said again.

Hank allowed a little nod. "Exception to the rule," he provided. "You can try the cap on."

Ethan gazed reluctantly at the limited edition cap – one that Ethan had been asking for. Just like Ethan was always asking to go to a game. Hank hadn't obliged that in years either. So much focus after Camille died had been placed on getting Ethan well and out of the hospital and then it had been all about dealing with Justin's acting out. The way Hank had dealt with any of it had been to bury himself further into work. It kept his sanity – debatably. But it meant doing 'fun' things – family time – it'd been placed on the backburner. Giving Ethan a childhood hadn't been a priority. Making sure he was still breathing had been more of a necessity.

Ethan didn't look much like he wanted to try the cap on then. He didn't have any excitement painting across his face. How his birthday had been 'ruined' – at his own hands, really – was settling in. But he clearly didn't want to challenge his father on it and picked up the cap, gazing at it for a moment and then adjusting it over his head. He so fucking needed a haircut. His hair was downright shaggy. Hank fucking hated that. He liked his boys to have close-cropped dos. To be trim. In order. But he knew that the hair was just another way Ethan was trying to hid the scars. To have something else to fall over them and to cover them up. He wasn't sure how much longer he'd tolerate that either.

"Looks good," Erin told him with a genuine smile as the kid got the hat adjusted the way he wanted – or as much as he was going to even try to adjust it to fit the exact right way in that moment. Still, he gave her a thin smile for her efforts.

"OK, Ethan, listen up," Hank said after giving them their small moment. The boy's eyes moved to him. "We're only going to have this conversation once."

Ethan just blinked at him and Hank jabbed his finger toward the items sitting at the center of the table.

"You are going to earn those," he said and then took a step forward and pulled out a chair and sitting down. His boy gazed at the tickets on the table and then him. He looked nervous, almost scared.

"This is how it's going to work," Hank said. "You are grounded. Very grounded – and your ass belongs to me this summer. If you want these happy fun times," he said and reached and nudged the tickets, "then you are going to listen to everything I say – and you're going to do it. There's not going to be whining. There's not going to be talk back. There's not going to be any lying or bullshit."

"The game is July," Ethan said quietly – apparently not seeing a point in arguing on anything that had been said. "I'm not going to be here in July."

"You're going to be here in July," Hank said flatly and Ethan eyed him but there was a flicker of life in them again. "Your sister has made some arrangements," Hank provided him and Ethan gazed at Erin with a hint of gratefulness. She just reached and gave his back a small rub. "You're going to day camp. Every day, Ethan," Hank stressed. "And then after day camp – you're getting your ass on the L and you're going to boxing."

A small smile tugged at Ethan's lips but he fought against it – not wanting Hank to see it.

"You aren't going to be running around this city on your own," Hank said. "One of us will get you to camp in the morning. You'll get yourself to boxing – and unless you're told otherwise – you stay there until me or Erin pick you up. If you aren't at camp or at boxing – you're here. And when you're here – you are living by my rules and you are earning everything back. Right now, Ethan, you've got room and board. That's it. No tv. No internet. No computer. No phone. And, I don't want to hear you asking about when you get them either. You behave. You do as you're told. You do your chores. And you'll be told when you have those privileges back."

"OK," Ethan allowed quietly but glanced down at his lap again, sinking a bit into the chair.

"These people are doing us favors, Ethan," Hank said sternly. "If I hear about any kind of acting out or disrespect happening at camp or the gym. Any complaining. You pulling a disappearing act. Your ass is going to be in a slang faster than you can even imagine."

"I know, Dad," Ethan whispered.

"OK," Hank nodded and sat back in his chair a bit, crossing his arms. "And you're also going to remember that your sister isn't your friend," he said. "She's older than you. She's an adult. If she tells you something – if she disciplines you – you listen. You don't be giving her any lip either."

"OK," Ethan said quietly.

Erin reached and gripped at the back of her brother's neck. "Eth, you need to remember too that in this house we trust each other, OK? That's what your dad told me when I moved in – and you need to know that too. Family is allowed to know the good, bad and ugly about each other. We need to know, Ethan. If you'd been truthful from the start – we might've avoided all of this. Your dad and I might've been able to help you and things wouldn't be as messy right now."

Ethan's head just nodded in acknowledgement that she'd spoken but he didn't speak.

"There will be no smoking in this house," Hank said sternly. "No drinking. No drugs. I catch you with any of it. I smell it on you. I see any signs that you've been anywhere near it – and you've got bigger worries than military school."

"OK," Ethan whispered, his head still bowed.

"Look at me," Hank ordered. The boy's head reluctantly rose. "We're going to see the shrink next week," he added. "You are going back on your medication."

"But—" Ethan started in weak protest.

Hank held up his hand. "You'll have the opportunity to explain to him why you don't like the medications. I will give my two cents about how I feel about my kid being on all this shit. And, then if the doctor says you still need to be on the meds, you're taking the fucking meds, Ethan. And, right now, I'm telling you – I'm looking at you, and you need to be something."

Ethan made a little noise and looked back down.

"Look at me," Hank ordered again. It took longer that time but Ethan's head eventually game back up. His eyes were glassy with frustration. "You listen. You do as you're told and you'll get to do these things," Hank said more gently and put his hand back on the tickets. "Maybe you'll get to do a couple other fun things too this summer." Ethan blinked at him and his eyes tried to look away again. "And, more importantly, Ethan, you get through the next six weeks – you prove to me that you belong here, that you can behave in this house and this city – then you'll get a voice in the conversation about what we're doing with you for the school year."

Ethan looked up a bit more at him at that. His face creasing again with some hope.

"Doesn't mean you get to make the decision," Hank stressed firmly. "Doesn't mean that it's going to work out the way you want. It means that I will hear out your opinion. But your case better be more thought out than, 'I don't like school, Dad', 'Don't send me away, Dad', 'I don't want to go to military school, Dad,'" he mimicked in a whiney voice.

"OK," Ethan said a little bit more strongly.

"And, if you're staying in Chicago, son, you're going to St. Ignatius," he said firmly and pointed a finger sternly at him. "Think on that too."

Erin gave his bicep a little squeeze. "It's not an easy place to be either, E," she told him softly. "They aren't going to tolerate you fighting. The kids are going to know who you are. They'll figure it out. And, there's mean kids there too – bullies – just like anywhere else."

Ethan's eyes flickered a bit some sadness again showing but he allowed a small nod. "OK," he whispered.

Hank knew that St. Ignatius had been hard on Erin. That after some of Justin's stunts in late high school he'd really have to pull strings to get Ethan in. But he could do it. Just the agreement was likely going to be a lot stricter. Ethan had one little screw up and they'd be back to talking military school. Or sending his son to public school. Hank didn't think he'd be doing that. That didn't seem safe given their family history. Not that private school had proved the best opinion for any of his kids either. But at least with St. Ignatius he knew what to expect. He knew people there to watch out for his kid and to keep him better abreast on what the fuck was going on. And, as much as a pain in the ass as it would be to have a fucking little kid at home to manage – at least then he could manage him. He could manage the fucking situation before it got too out of hand. He hadn't had a firm enough grip on the situation with him up in boarding school – and now his whole family was fucking paying for it. That was his own fault.

"OK, listen, Magoo," Hank said a bit more gently, waiting until Ethan again met his eyes. He folded his hands on the table when he did and leaned forward, making sure he really had the kid's line of sight. "I was real proud of you getting on the junior varsity, son," he said with some force but sincerity. Ethan's eyes again glimmered and he tried to look away but Hank again adjusted himself to keep the eye contact. "I know you worked hard for that. That you deserved it."

Ethan really did look away at that. He didn't take praise easily – especially from his father. Maybe Hank hadn't given it enough to him growing up. Maybe that was something he needed to revise a bit too.

"Look at me, E," he said again and waited until the boy hesitantly met his eyes. "I know baseball is important to you. But playing is also a privilege."

"I know," Ethan allowed quietly.

"You lost the privilege of being on the J.V.," Hank said and Ethan gave a little nod. "But I think you've done good this week at starting to prove you can listen. That you can behave. You can do better." Ethan gave him another small glance. "So I'm going to give you the privilege of playing ball back," Hank told him.

"Really?" Ethan asked with some clear excitement – though he tried to keep it muted.

"But it's going to be up to you to keep that privilege. To keep up the good behavior," Hank said and tapped his fingers on the table.

"OK," Ethan nodded with the flicker of hope showing in him again.

"To start, you're going to thank your Uncle Al the next time you see him," Hank said. "He found a team that's willing to take you on. But, E, you're going to remember that you're starting late in the season and you're injured. So if the coach has got you sitting out – you're going to sit out with no complaints. You're going to go to practice, run the drills and work your ass off, put in the best you can for that team – no matter if you ever get out on the field. You understand?"

Ethan nodded hard. "Yes," he affirmed.

"OK," Hank nodded firmly and then leaned in his chair, twisting and opening one of the lower cupboards, reaching and pulling out a plastic bag and setting it on the table.

Between the sporting goods bag and the shape of it, it was clearly a bat and Ethan's eyes lit up again – more so than they had for any other gift. Hank tapped on it.

"I was really looking forward to getting to see you play this weekend, Ethan," Hank said, patting the bag. "I'd like to still see you take some swings."

Ethan gave him a look. There was regret there. The realization setting in again that not only had he and Erin been planning to be there to give him a bit of a birthday outing but to cheer him on at his tournament – the one he wouldn't get to play. Hell, Hank knew that even though Ethan would get to sit with a team that summer – he likely wouldn't be playing. Not starting this late in the Little League season. Not when his ribs were still mending. At least not until the swelling on that eye went down and he got some of his depth perception back. He'd be riding the bench. But at least maybe he'd get some friends and connections in the city. Maybe it'd teach him a bit about teamwork and the real meaning of sportsmanship if he was having to work his ass off at practice and not getting to be shining star on the field – no matter how good he was. Having that hanging over him might teach him more than any other discipline method Hank could come up with.

Hank pushed the bag over closer to him. "There you go," he said. "Last birthday gift."

Ethan let out a slow breath but reached and took it, drawing the bag into his lap and pushing the bag down to reveal the ultra-light Easton. Ethan had wanted an Easton for years. It was what all the top youth players had. The sweet spot and the speed of the brand was unmatched. But so was the price. It wasn't something that Hank had ever felt justified in purchasing for his little kid. But Ethan's skills getting recognized? Him getting to train with the junior varsity before his time? Knowing that all the kids at the fucking private school would have the best and brightest, shiniest and newest equipment? Knowing that Ethan often struggled to fit in – and being the fucking little runt allowed on the J.V.? Hank had decided this was the year to reward his son for all his work and effort. The dedication to the sport – the love it – that hadn't died. Something that now should really be nurtured as he entered his teens. See what opportunities it could make for him – even if it was only health and fitness and some buddies. But maybe they'd get lucky and it might at least lead to some college ball and an accompanying scholarship – assuming Ethan could ever get the marks to warrant him going to college. That was going to be a stretch anyways. But Hank could still hope.

Ethan's eyes got big as he gazed at the model. It was the latest. It was one of the topped ranked sanctioned models for the season. Hank had done his research. He'd chatted up the guys in the shop. Made sure he was doing right. He tried his best to do that in most things. Though, he'd spent the week feeling like he hadn't been doing so well with that when it came to his youngest.

"Thanks, Dad," Ethan said a little breathlessly.

Hank just gave a nod and tapped his knuckles on the table. "So what you think? Those ribs good enough tonight that we can go out and see what kind of pop it's got?"

Ethan finally gave him a smile – though it was still a little shy, a little hesitant. But that was OK. They were going to take some time before they settled into it being comfortable. Hank didn't want him to get too comfortable to quickly anyways. That'd be when they got into trouble again.

"Yeah?" Ethan said – definitely as more of a question than an affirmative.

But Hank gave a good nod and stood from the table, giving Erin a look. She was smiling at him without hesitation. Maybe more smirking.

"Yeah," Hank provided and started heading for the door. "C'mon. Both of you pain in the asses."


	21. Hold Up

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Erin gave Ethan a glance and gave him a thin smile. He was sitting so quietly and working on eating his ice cream sundae so slowly. She supposed they all were but she thought her and Hank had put a bigger dent in theirs than he had his.

Simple two-scoop sundaes. But getting them ordered hadn't been that simple – and Erin knew that even though Hank was letting his son be at the moment, not vamping up the situation further or creating embarrassment, there were going to be questions.

They'd walked to a nearby field and managed to find it vacant that night. At least at the start. Erin was a little surprised but glad to have the opportunity to let Ethan try out the bat. To have the opportunity to get to watch Hank interact with his son. For her to get to interact with the two of them. For it to feel relatively normal. To have a reminder of what having a family felt like – what it was supposed to look like.

Ethan had taken some swings with the bat but it was clear that he was still hurting. He winced every time he swung the bat around and he seemed to be favoring his side – holding himself far too tensely – every time he tried to connect with the ball. When he did finally manage to find the sweet spot on the bat, the pop must've been too much for him yet, and he'd handed the bat off to Hank.

Hank had obliged. Erin actually would venture to say he took some small glee (as much as Hank ever felt glee) in whacking ball after ball into the outfield. But Ethan seemed content to run around getting himself under it – catching each and every one. Erin had tried to intercept a few but almost had to do battle with Ethan for position. She'd teased him about sharing the ball and them being on the same team. He'd just shrugged at her. But he was smiling. It was probably the first real smiles she'd seen in him that week – ones that weren't fleeting. They actually stuck. Even Hank had that grimace that was more of a restrained grin as he self-pitched and swung the bat around. As he called at them about where he was going to hit the next one. He was showing off.

When a group actually showed up who looked like they wanted to use the field for more than dicking around – as Hank called it – he'd offered up ice cream. Ethan had been on a high and excitedly accepted and they'd done another small walk. Hank had actually briefly had his arm around his son's shoulder talking at him. It seemed calm. Natural. A lot of the tension from the week seemed to dim. It felt like the hardest part was out of the way. That expectations were now set and they could all move on – they could start working within them. All of them.

And, that felt nice. It would make things easier. They could all breath again. They needed that.

The walk to the ice cream parlor had felt nice too. It reminded Erin a bit of days long ago. Other walks she'd taken with Hank to get ice cream. How strange it had felt back then. This weird sense of domestically that she hadn't felt before living with the Voights. Like it was something that only happened in movies she'd never seen. That dads taking their kids out for ice cream on a summer night wasn't something that actually happened. But with the Voights it did. It wasn't like it was a weekly occurrence. She wouldn't even call it a tradition. But it did happen. A handful of times each summer – usually the hottest days of the year, if Hank was home – he'd take her and Justin over and they'd sit on the picnic tables licking at their cones. Just like he grilled up burgers on the barbecue and took them to movies a few times a year. Just like there was allowance on Friday mornings and French toast Christmas morning. There were chores and favorite breakfast cereals and vegetables you didn't want to eat. Curfew and groundings. Pizza nights and spaghetti nights. Birthday presents and Father's Day cards and Mother's Day brunch. All things that she hadn't actually believed existed before she was taken in by the Voights. All things that even now occasionally felt a little strange but that she was so grateful to have gotten some glimpse of – to get to experience some of, even if those experiences didn't come until she was 14. At least she got those experiences. At least she got to experiences some of them again now with a baby brother. Some people – people she knew – didn't get to ever experience any of those things. They didn't get to escape like she had. They didn't have the opportunity for different or better.

Things had changed a bit in the ice cream parlor, though. Ethan was taking forever to pick his flavors. He wanted a two scoop. They all knew the only reason he wanted a two scoop was so he could have it put in the baseball helmet cup. And, Hank had declared that he and Erin would get a two-scoop sundae too – and again, she knew it was Hank trying to be kind to his son. To get him a couple more of the helmets. Hopefully different ones. Only there would be no hopefully to it. She knew Hank would tell the kid behind the counter to make sure they each got a different helmet. And, Erin didn't argue about it – even though she likely would've favored a single scoop and a waffle cone if she'd had much say in the matter. But it was Ethan's birthday – belated – so she'd let him have his fun. She'd let Hank facilitate the small little extra for him – because she liked seeing him trying. She thought they both needed that right now to get the whole situation to level out and to start moving forward again.

But the delay in Ethan picking kept getting longer and longer. Hank wasn't making any comment about it. That almost surprised Erin. He wasn't much for dallying. But she could see him watching his son. Measuring it.

It'd been the teenaged clerk who Hank eventually barked at, though. The kid kept making these dramatic sighing noises and glaring at Ethan.

"Hey," Hank had spat at him. "Not all of us spend all day staring at the thirty-one flavors. You're paid to stand there. You're not paid to put on a production."

"He's holding up the line," the teen had groaned.

Hank glanced at the people behind them. He'd already waved some other families and kids ahead of them. He did so again but this time took a step closer Ethan, putting his hand on his back.

"What's the hold up, E?" he'd asked quietly. But Erin caught the touch of concern to it.

Ethan gave him a glance. There was clear frustration in his eyes. Real frustration. A glint not unlike what Erin had been seeing when he'd been looking at his birthday cards and the dinosaur book she'd given him. This look like what he was holding wasn't quite registering. That he couldn't quite comprehend. But she thought at the time that the whole way the birthday gifts were being presented to him was throwing him off a bit. That he was frustrated and down. He'd looked that way a lot of the week. But something about it in this context seemed different.

Ethan put his finger on the glass. "I guess I'll just have the Baseball Nut," he said.

Erin gazed where his finger was pointing just as much as Hank did. "Magoo, that's the Strawberry Cheesecake," he said gently.

"Oh," Ethan said embarrassedly and let his finger trail down the glass.

Hank gestured a bit further down the display. "The Baseball Nut is over there, Bud," he said. "If that's what you want."

Ethan shook his head no and touched the glass again. "I'll get that," he said.

Hank again looked. "That's the Birthday Cake, Bud," he provided. Erin gazed at Ethan and cast Hank a concerned look. His eyes very briefly met hers but clearly indicated he didn't want her to say anything.

It was strange, though. She'd seen some strange behavior out of Ethan that week, though. She'd mostly been writing it off as him hurting and him cowering from the whole situation. Him trying to cope. He was a little squirrely but she'd also just thought that was because he wasn't on his prescriptions. That his anxiety was getting to him. That his ability to concentrate was compromised. And, even when Ethan was on his medication he was a kind of twitchy kid. Hank didn't like anyone saying it – she wasn't sure he wanted to admit it – but Ethan had some serious trauma in his past. There were some pretty obvious aspects of post-trauma stress going on in him at times. The insecurity, the low self-esteem, the inability to keep eye contact, the startling, the cowering, the general acting out. Even when he was medicated, he was always a little off. So Erin hadn't thought too much of it – until now.

"It's usually the Cotton Candy you like," Hank said and again pointed down the case. "Or the Fireworks. Or did you want to try something new?"

Ethan just shrugged and Hank again looked at him, this time a bit more seriously. His finger poked down near the bottom of the case. "I know some of them look the same," he said, "but they've got the names here, Magoo. The descriptions. You seeing these?"

Ethan looked blankly at his father's finger for a beat and then looked away. "I can't read them," he said at a whisper.

Erin cast Hank another look. She was getting more worried and stepped closer to her baby brother but Hank again gave her a warning look.

"You're having trouble seeing them or you can't read them?" he put a bit more pointedly to his son but his voice remained calm and level.

"They don't make sense," Ethan said in a quiet staccato and took a step away from the counter, like he was done with even the thought of ice cream.

But Hank's hand moved up to his neck and he stepped closer to the boy. "It's OK, E," he said, leaning forward so he was talking quietly just in his son's ear. "You tell me what you think you want and I'll help you out. Get it ordered."

Ethan gazed up at him. The embarrassment and the fear were palpable. Erin's heart broke for him but her mind was also racing in trying to understand what was going on. Was it just the swollen eye? Did he hit his head harder than the doctor's had thought? Was he concussed? Did he take a blow in boxing? Was coming off the drugs leaving him disoriented and confused?

"Baseball Nut and Fireworks," Ethan said diverting his eyes.

"You sure?" Hank asked calmly. "I can read ya the other signs. Get you sorted."

Ethan just shook his head. Erin wasn't really sure if that was actually what he wanted or if he just wanted to get out of the situation as quickly as possible. But Hank seemed willing to oblige. He gestured at her.

"Get squared away," he nodded toward the clerk.

She took a step forward and placed her order, stepping to the side as Hank put in the order for him and Ethan – and barked about the helmet dishes, as expected. And, then they'd retreated to the picnic tables outside.

They'd been sitting on the top of it. Ethan had been staring blankly at the street – watching the traffic and the people go by. There really wasn't that much to look at. It wasn't that pretty of sight. Erin had found herself staring at her brother instead – even though she was trying not to. But it was how she was processing. How she was weighing what had just happened. Hank, though, wasn't saying a thing about it.

He picked out the last spoonful of his ice cream, clicking the spoon around it once last time and then reaching and taking a napkin, giving it a quick wipe out. He plopped the plastic container upright next to Ethan's boney little ass.

"There. Cincinnati," he said flatly. "I think you've got that one already."

Ethan gave it a little glance. "Yeah," he allowed.

Hank shrugged. "Ah, well. You'll get them all eventually." He leaned around his son and gave her a look – again there was some warning in it. That they weren't going to talk about what he'd just witnessed right now. "What'd you get?"

Erin had been so distracted she hadn't even looked but she moved her hand and gazed at the bowl now. "Giants," he said.

Ethan gave her a little glance. "I don't have that one," he said.

Hank gave him a little punch in the shoulder. "There you go," he said with some assuredness and then reached and flipped up the rim on Ethan's. "And, Atlanta. Mmm. You got a bunch of those."

"Yeah," Ethan said in quiet agreement.

"Ah, well. Win some, lose some," Hank said. "We can take another spin at it another nice."

Ethan gave his head a little shake. "I don't really like ice cream," he said.

Erin and Hank both looked at him. They knew that was a lie. The truth in it was that Ethan didn't like what had just happened – and he didn't like that they now knew that something was up. Something that he clearly didn't want acknowledged or talked about. But something that Erin hoped Hank would involve her in. That she'd at least be told what the hell was going on. Because watching it had scared her a bit – and she didn't scare easily. But this was her baby brother and he'd already been through enough. They all had. They didn't need more.


	22. Don't Make Sense

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

"Can I come down?" Hank heard called carefully from the top of the stairs.

"Yes," he responded flatly, reaching and pulling the frying pan off the burner.

He'd let Ethan sleep in – but it'd reached the point that he didn't much like him sleeping in. He'd decided to see if starting breakfast would be enough to rouse him – before he resorted to the more assholish method of storming into his room and telling him to get his ass out of bed.

By the time he turned around the kid had appeared in the kitchen doorway. He was completely sleep rumpled. His hair was matted and standing on end all at the same time. And, he was only in his boxers and the tshirt he'd been wearing the night before. It made him look smaller and younger than he was, though the kid likely thought the sleep attire made him look like a tough guy. Hank didn't much approve of people being down on the living level, though, still in their sleep clothes. That was pretty much tolerated on Christmas morning – back when Justin was little and Camille wanted pictures. It'd occasionally been tolerated on Sundays – and maybe for Saturday morning cartoons when Justin was at that age and stage – but even then Hank wasn't one to take part. He was fully dressed whenever he descended the steps. And he descended those stairs well before the clock hands hit the eight o'clock mark that they were ticking passed that morning.

He gestured at the small tabled in the kitchen and Ethan went over and sat, still gazing at him. The kid was clearly still waiting for the other shoe to fall. But it was going to feel strange for both of them for a while. Maybe a long while. They'd never had to share the house alone before. Sure, Justin was grown and came and went as he damn well pleased – even if Hank didn't approve – but he technically still lived there.

He supposed there'd been the various holidays and school breaks that Ethan had been home the past two years where it'd just been the two of them. But that'd only been for a few days at a time – and Erin usually made a conscious effort to be there near daily during the visits. This was different. This could be permanent. Even in the worst case scenario Hank had pretty much made the commitment to have him home for about ten weeks right then. Ten fucking weeks. It kind of sounded like an eternity. It wasn't like he hadn't raised kids before. It wasn't like he wasn't used to figuring out how to balance his job with having a family. And, fuck, he'd dealt with a lot more serious situations on the job than anything his own fucking puny twelve-year-old could throw at him. But still. It was going to take some getting used to. But it was pretty good about just fucking doing it. Move on. Deal.

"Eth, you can move around the house now," he said as he started scrapping breakfast onto two plates at the counter. "You don't have to ask."

"OK," Ethan said quietly.

Hank gazed at him for a moment. The kid looked just as unsure about all of this as he felt. But it was what it was.

He picked up the plates and took them over to the table, depositing the bacon, eggs and sliced tomato in front of his son and the other at his spot. Ethan just stared at the plate as Hank took his seat. He looked at the kid for another second while he took a slow sip of his coffee.

"You're eating," Hank said flatly as he put the cup down.

Ethan cast him a glance. "I don't really like eggs," he whispered. "Or tomatoes."

Hank eyed him sternly. "This ain't a restaurant, Magoo," he provided. "You need to put some weight on. Get some nutrients and protein in you. When I cook – you're eating what gets put in front of you."

Ethan let out a little sigh but reached and picked up one of the pieces of bacon. Hank nodded and picked up his utensils to start in on his own breakfast. But he found himself staring at his son instead. He was gnawing at the bacon in little tiny nibbles like he might as well be some sort of rodent.

"You don't like bacon now either?" Hank asked as he swallowed some of his eggs.

The kid was so fucking picky. It was ridiculous. They hadn't had the problem with Justin – and definitely hadn't with Erin. Erin ate like she hadn't seen food for months – and like she hadn't ever had a home-cooked meal set in front of her. The first bit while she'd been with them she'd thrown up everything she'd eaten because she ate so much so quickly and her stomach wasn't used to getting that kind of food. It hadn't known what to do with it and had expelled it in the process.

Ethan gave a little shrug now, though. "Bacon's OK," he said. "You just make it real crispy."

"Bacon's supposed to be crispy," Hank provided.

Ethan shook his head at that statement but didn't verbally argue and continued to nibble slowly. Oh well. Let him nibble – as long as he fucking ate something.

"Well, you'll get the chance to make what you want the way you want soon enough," Hank said and put another forkful in his mouth, chewing and swallowing while he watched his son give him questioning eyes. "You're going to be doing some of the cooking around here."

"I don't know how to cook," Ethan protested with some shock.

"You're going to learn," Hank said. "And, you aren't going to be doing any microwave or frozen dinners or boxed, processed crap either. You're going to cook us real food. Balanced meals."

Ethan let out another little sigh and looked back to his plate, picking up his fork and fumbling around to quarter the tomato and then jabbing at it and putting it in his mouth. He made a face as he chewed – like he wanted to gag on it.

Hank looked away from him to refrain from making a face or comment. Just let him be an obnoxious pre-teen. There were battles he'd fight with him. Calling him out on every little acting out moment would be too fucking exhausting. It'd be an argument every 30 seconds. He didn't have it in him – and he'd seen what the hard-ass method got him with Justin. Years of a strained relationship. He and Ethan were strained enough – their whole family was strained enough – without him piling on the extra discipline for every little thing.

"And I don't like this sleeping in," Hank said, though.

"Dad, it's only like eight," Ethan near whined at him. "It's Saturday."

Hank pointed his fork at him. "We don't laze around in bed all fucking morning in this house. You had the week to rest up and heal. Now you're on my schedule. Your ass is on the move by six."

Ethan sighed at him again and again looked back at his plate, pushing the eggs around for a moment before he stabbed another piece of tomato and slowly chewed it. "You working today?" he asked cautiously, his food not yet completely swallowed.

"Not right now, I'm not," Hank said.

Ethan gave him a little glance. "Erin coming over?"

Hank gave a little shrug and worked at scooping up some of the eggs. Ethan was missing out if he was going to skip out of them. It was a good batch. It was contemplating shoving them down his throat. The kid needed to fucking eat. A piece of bacon and a slice of tomato wasn't going to cut it. He was going to have to put some more thought into how to bulk him up a bit. He could count the kid's fucking ribs. See his hipbones pointing out of his body like he was some sort of emaciated famine child from Africa. That just wasn't going to cut it. He might have to take him grocery shopping and see what sort of proteins and carbs the little fucker was willing to entertain and then start just loading his plate with them for a while until he started to pudge out and tip the scales a bit. He needed some weight on him.

"Your sister earned her days off. Doubt she wants to spend them over here watching you do chores," Hank said.

Ethan eyed him again. "Chores?" he asked hesitantly. There was a definite lack of excitement in his voice. Hank thought that no matter how much he hated the concept of being put to work, the kid should be grateful he was going to have something to do. He'd spent about 90 per cent of the past week getting to stare at the walls of his sister's bedroom. That wasn't exactly stimulating.

"You're going to start getting the boxes moved out of your room," Hank said. "Take them down to the basement."

Ethan squinted at him. "I get my room?"

"You aren't staying in your sister's room," Hank said flatly.

Ethan seemed to consider that. "Just moving J's stuff or mine too?"

Hank shrugged. "You can keep some of your things up there. But I don't want it a fucking disaster zone."

Ethan seemed to have to process that again – like the concept was a bit much for him. But, it likely was a bit much. It'd never just been "his" room. And, he'd been stuck off in a dorm that definitely wasn't his personal space for the past couple years. Making the room look like something that belonged to a kid entering his teens and not some fucking mishmash of a teenaged delinquent and a grade schooler would take some work.

"We can dismantle the top bunk if you want," Hank offered. "And we'll go look at some paint. That room needs a fresh layer."

"Won't Justin be mad?" Ethan asked.

"We'll put the crib and the baby stuff in the basement for now. He's supposed to be coming to get it in a few weeks anyways."

"No. Getting rid of his stuff and his bed and all that?"

"He's a grown man," Hank pushed back at him. "He doesn't need a bunk bed – and I'm not storing all your guys' crap forever."

"You still let Erin have her stuff in her room," Ethan said. There was a touch of defiance to it but also this bit of confusion.

"Erin's cleared out most of her stuff," Hank said – a little annoyed. "And her room isn't a fucking disaster."

"Because it's bigger," Ethan said and finally put a forkful of the scrambled eggs in his mouth. He considered his plate for a moment and added another to his piehole. Apparently eggs weren't quite as disgusting as they thought. They were likely serving him fucking liquid egg beaters at that damn school. He'd probably forgotten what real food was supposed to look like and taste like. "And she's just one person."

"Mmm," Hank acknowledged. He was happy enough that the kid was actually eating that he refrained from comment on him talking with his mouth full.

"I could just stay in Erin's room," Ethan said suddenly like that revelation just dawned on him. A fucking brain wave.

"No," Hank said sternly. "Erin's room is Erin's room."

"But she doesn't live here anymore," he said.

"She's here enough," Hank countered.

"Justin isn't?" Ethan asked all confused again.

"No," Hank provided and gave him a glare. "He doesn't live in the city anymore. He's setting up a home for his family. He doesn't need a fucking bunkbed or his boxes of whatever crap he was he has from his teenaged bullshit. If he wants something – he'll dig it out – of the basement."

Ethan examined him again as he considered that. "I'm not sure that I'm supposed to be carrying stuff like that with my ribs."

Hank snorted at him and gave him a look. "I think you'll be OK."

"You'll be mad if we have to go to the hospital again," Ethan countered. He was getting some of his talk-back back apparently. Little fucker.

"You aren't going to be humping the fucking bunk or crib down yourself, E," Hank said. "I'll help you."

Ethan looked at him again – measuring that statement and then poked at his plate, putting more food in his mouth. He seemed to chew slowly in thought. Hank let him. He didn't really like having long conversations at the dinner table. He liked even less having a fucking argument with his kid – especially the day after telling him there would be no arguments. Not that this was a real argument. It was just Ethan wrapping his head around things – and poking gently at the limits.

"Can I pick whatever color I want to paint it?" he asked and gave Hank a slightly more interested.

"That depends on what colour you want to paint it," Hank said drily.

"I don't know," Ethan said and pushed more food around his plate. "Not plaid."

Hank let out a small snort at that. "You planning on tearing the wallpaper off the one wall and you're going to have a whole lot bigger project than what I was giving you."

Ethan just looked at him. "It looks like your shirts, Dad."

He glared at his son. "It looks like a boy's bedroom," he said.

Ethan shrugged.

"You're going to bring down your laundry too," Hank said, changing topics since he seemed to think he wanted to talk about shirts. "Get it washed and see what you've got."

"I packed all my clothes," Ethan provided.

"Do you need any summer clothes?" Hank put to him more pointedly. "You'll be outside with day camp. Need some shorts?"

Ethan shrugged. "I don't know," he said.

The kid likely didn't know. Hank didn't know either. He did not excel at buying clothes. But he could make Erin do that after he got a sense of what the kid actually had around that still fit. Sort of wondered if any of it fit – and not because of Ethan having grown any bigger since the fall.

"And, we're going to go and figure out some groceries," Hank said.

"Mac and cheese," Ethan provided.

"You aren't getting any mac and cheese," Hank put firmly. "I told you – real food."

"That is real food," Ethan said and gave him a look.

"Not if it comes in a box," Hank said.

"So then maybe you can make yours that's not out of a box?" Ethan suggested giving him slightly hopeful eyes. "It's better anyways."

"It's June, Ethan," Hank said somewhat annoyed. "We're going to be using the grill and eating salads – not baking the whole house with the oven on in here."

"Or you could get air conditioning," Ethan said with some tone.

"Don't be a smart-ass," Hank told him and pointed his fork across the table. Ethan sunk back a bit at it and he redirected his hand so it was jabbed less threatening at his kid and more at his plate. "Finish your breakfast."

Ethan just looked at his plate and started working at continuing to pick at the food. Apparently he'd realized the conversation was over and he'd pushed things a little too far too quickly. Or just that Dad wasn't too much fun. He'd likely felt that way for most of his life, though. Hank recognized that.

He worried about it on occasion. He understood that he wasn't cuddly with his kids. He'd given them all affection, though. His kids had received hugs. They'd received little bumps and lumps and taps and gentle roughhousing as depictions of how much he cared. But he knew he was tough. Tough – but he thought fair. He was just trying to raise good kids. Kids who could be independent. Who could look out for themselves. Who knew right from wrong. Who could live and survive in the city. They were cared about. They were loved. He just hadn't felt the need to proclaim that to them verbally at every possible chance. He'd done his best to make sure they knew from other ways he was involved in their lives. But sometimes he still thought they wanted one of those fucking suit wearing, smoothie sipping, man-purse carrying pussy-type daddies. That'd never been the father he wanted to be. He wouldn't have even known how to be that if he wanted it at all. He had rough and tumble kids. They got a rough and tumble dad. But they had a nice life. As nice as he could manage to provide. That counted for something. He thought.

"You didn't crack open your Topps," Hank provided flatly, deciding to give the kid a bit of a break. To be some of that softer dad that he could be. Though, Ethan was likely going to see through it and known they were moving into territory he might not want to talk about.

Ethan gave the box of baseball cards a glance. It was still sitting on the table with his other gifts. The kid had made a beeline for upstairs when they'd gotten home the night before. Trying his best to avoid any sort of conversation about his rather apparent brain fart at the ice cream parlor.

"Yea," Ethan acknowledged staring at the box.

Previous years Ethan would've poured over any cards he was given. He'd sit staring at them for hours. Reading them. Memorizing them. Sorting them. Bringing random ones to show Hank over and over and over again. And then filing them ever so carefully into his binder. A value pack like this – eight fucking packs of cards for him to go through – Ethan would've spent all day with it. And then likely would've been scrounging together change to go to the store and get some more packs with his enthusiasm stoked once again. But there were worse things he could be spending money on. Apparently that was really true right now. Hank would definitely opt for baseball cards over fucking cigarettes or dope. Even fucking videogames. Not that he'd be letting Ethan anywhere near any of those things now that he was under his watch now.

"I'll open them after chores, I guess," Ethan muttered.

Hank gave a little nod. "Not collecting the Stadium series this year?" he tried.

Ethan shrugged a bit. "I was savin'. I hadn't bought anything yet this season." He cast his dad a look. It was quiet and shy and almost begging him to just leave it.

"Ah, saving," Hank put back to him. But they weren't going to get into that right now either. It may make him want to snap his little neck again. The fucking idiot. He still hadn't decided what he was going to do with that cash. But it wasn't buying no PlayStation, that was for sure.

Hank gestured at the boxed book and dinosaur stuff that Erin had given him instead. "Looks like a neat set your sister gave you," he offered.

"Yeah," Ethan acknowledged.

"What all is in it?" Hank asked.

"Book, one of those fake fossil dig things," Ethan said flatly.

"Oh, yeah?" Hank allowed. Ethan had liked some of the little cheapie ones that you could get. He'd sit out on the porch chipping away at them when he was a little kid. Dig out the fucking little plastic dinosaurs. Breath in the fucking toxic dust from China that encased the damn things. He knew this one was much more sophisticated than that. That it'd be a good little project for the kid. Something to keep him out of trouble while he dug out the bones and then pieced together the large-scale model. Nice that it was educational too – even if it was dinosaurs – considering he was missing the last couple weeks of school and Hank was still having a pissing match with them to ensure his kid got a fucking passing grade to go onto the next year.

"What's the box say about it?" Ethan reached and moved to shove the box across the table to him. But Hank shook his head. "I'm still eating. Flip it over and read it to me."

Ethan gave him an upset look. "I'm eating too," he said quietly.

Hank shook his head. "It's OK. Just tell me what it says about the fossil kit."

Ethan let out a slow breath and flipped the box over and stared at it – for a long time. "That it will be a velociraptor, a brachiosaurus or a styracosaur. And that you get a hammer and chisel."

Hank gave a little nod but then rose from his chair, rounding the table and leaning over the back of the seat where Ethan was sitting. He gazed down at the box too. Ethan had clearly told him that much based on the pictures on the packaging.

Hank tapped his finger on the text on the box instead. "Read that to me, Magoo."

"Dad …" he whined and gave him a pleading look.

"Read it," Hank said a bit more sternly.

Ethan let out a slow sigh and gazed at the box. Hank let him and Ethan just stared for several seconds – that ticked on to almost a minute until he buried the heels of his hand against his eyes and shook his head.

"I can't," Ethan said.

"Yes, you can, Ethan," Hank said a bit more gently. "You know how to read."

His kid had been a fucking early reader. His fucking bright brainatic little boy had been reading in kindergarten. He'd read to them. He'd sit and his and Camille's laps and sound out words for them – push through whole kiddie books. But then there'd been the fucking accident.

Sure. He'd regressed then. He wasn't a "gifted" child anymore. But he was alive and he was functional. Yeah, he struggled a bit academically. And socially. And emotionally. But he could fucking read. Math – OK, maybe that was an area that needed some work. But Hank had still consistently seen him reading with his baseball cards and dinosaur books and his magazines and newspaper sports sections. The school hadn't called him and said the kid was struggling with reading. With math – yes. With fitting in – yes. But reading? They hadn't said that. Maybe his marks should've reflected it. They just kept going down and down. But Hank had thought that had to do with attitude and work ethic – and just his kids. Voights. They weren't academic. Ethan wasn't happy at the school – and he was being a fucking little spoiled preteen brat. He hadn't thought much of it. Ethan hadn't said anything. The school just told him to get his son a math tutor. He did. But maybe they should've been telling him more than that. A whole fucking lot more than that it seemed. He definitely hadn't been getting his money's worth at that place – and someone was fucking going to pay for that.

"I can't," Ethan said quietly again. He sounded closer to frustrated tears.

Hank planted his finger down on the box. "Dinosaur enthusiasts," he read aloud for the kid, placing his finger under each word, though Ethan wasn't looking. He was trying to look as far a way as possible. "Will expand their knowledge with this scientifically detailed learning kit." He looked at his son's head and tapped his finger on the next sentence. "Read this one for me."

Ethan just shook his head again.

Hank let out a slow breath, and pulled the chair out next to his son and sat down, watching him. Ethan had gone to staring at a corner and collapsing his body into a crumpled posture while he tried to hide until he got excused from the table.

"It says you get two models, Eth," Hank said gently. "That will be good, right?" Ethan gave a little nod but still didn't look at him. Hank reached and touched his shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. "Your sister picks them good."

"Yeah," Ethan allowed.

Hank leaned forward and tapped on the Lego kit. "Your brother does too."

"Lego instructions are pictures," Ethan said quietly.

"Yea, they are," Hank conceded at a near whisper and sat back in his chair – just watching his son. Ethan looked so uncomfortable.

Hank sighed and reached to scrub roughly at his own face and then gazed back at his son.

"So how long has this been going on, Magoo?" he finally asked. His son just shrugged. "This why I'm seeing so many Cs in your grades?" Another shrug. Hank let out a slow breath. "You want to try to explain it to me. Is it your eyes? Or … I don't even know, E. You know how to read."

"I can read," Ethan said firmly but the hurt in his voice was clear.

"I know you can read," Hank nodded and leaned forward onto the table, bending to find his eyes and making sure his gaze had a gentleness in it. He wasn't mad. He was really fucking concerned. "But last night you seemed to be struggling, Magoo. Right now …" He gave his son a shrug. He didn't even know what he was seeing to try to put it quite into words and he didn't think Ethan wanted him trying to find words for it. They wouldn't be the right ones.

"The words just don't make sense," Ethan said quietly. It was the same language as he used the night before.

"How's it not make sense, Magoo?" Hank asked but the kid just hung his head. "It was ice cream and dinosaurs, Eth. It's not rocket science."

Ethan cast him a look. "You think I'm stupid now."

Hank plopped his hand roughly onto his shoulder and squeezed it. "I don't think that. Right now I don't know what the fuck to think, Ethan. But I'm really concerned. You know how to read."

Ethan just hung his head and shook it. "The words just don't look right anymore," he said. "They don't make sense."

A stray tear sprang from his son's eye and Ethan's hand flew up and swiped it away. It jabbed at Hank in a way he hated and he pulled the kid's shoulder a bit tighter, trying to bring him closer to him – to offer him some sort of comfort – but Ethan resisted. He wanted this to go unnoticed – ignored. But Hank wasn't going to let that happen. He'd already let that happen – and it wasn't going to happen now.

"It's OK, son," he assured though he felt a miscue catch in his chest as he said it – though, he knew it couldn't be heard. But he felt it. "We're going to get it sorted out. Get you sorted."

"Yeah, so then you can really tell everyone I'm a fucking stupid head case," Ethan said at a near whisper that it too a moment for it to even register what he'd said.

But as it did, Hank pulled firmly against Ethan's resistance and crushed him momentarily against his chest, purposely resting his cheek against the kid's so fucking damaged head – the dents and bumps and scars in his battered skull.

"Ethan, you aren't any of those things," he said. "We're going to get this fixed. It will be fine."

Hank always figured out a way to make it fine. But his track record hadn't been as good lately. He hoped that this time he was going to do better. That he wasn't fucking lying to his youngest. That he would be able to make this right.


	23. Fucking Doctors

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

"Ethan, why don't you step out for a few minutes, so I can talk to your dad," the shrink put flatly to his boy.

Ethan eyed the fucking dunce. Long and slow. The whole appointment had been long and slow. Like pulling fucking teeth. Ethan clearly didn't want to be there. Neither did Voight. But it was something that had to be done. Thing was – he was ready for it to just be done. He was probably giving the doctor a worse evil eye than Ethan was managing. Ethan was being as timid as fuck.

His kid's eyes moved away from the asshole sitting in that fucking armchair – trying to make it seem like this was all nice and comfortable. Fucking casual. It wasn't. It was fucking bullshit. But it was what it was in keeping his kid on the level. Hank had accepted that. Or at least that much of it. Like it or not.

Ethan eyed him instead. He didn't look comfortable about being told to leave. The kid had a fucking phobia about people talking about him. And obviously they were going to be talking about him. And they'd likely be saying the things that Ethan didn't want this guy saying – that his son was a head case. But Voight wasn't really willing to listen to that either. It was kind of stating the obvious – and it wasn't what they were there for. They were there to get his fucking prescriptions sorted. End of story.

"Go on," Voight told his kid. "I'll only be a minute," he said, drilling his eyes into the doc. It was a message for him – not his son.

Ethan clearly sulked for a moment but pulled himself off the end of the couch, where he'd only been balancing on the edge. He trudged to the door.

Hank just stayed slouched in place in his own cushy armchair. His elbows resting on the high armrests. His fingertips touching together. He didn't even glance at his kid leaving. He just waited until he heard the door click shut.

"You think you've got something to say to me without my son in the room?" Voight put to shrink flatly, drilling his eyes into him.

The doc just sighed and rose from his chair. "I thought you might want your son out of the room so we could speak frankly about his situation," the guy said and moved behind his desk. Voight suspected that the maneuvering either made him feel more secure and protected – or was simply meant to be a bit of a power trip.

"I think we had enough of a conservation already for you to jot down whatever happy pills you want him to take on that pad of yours," he put back to the guy, buoying his wrists to point his fingers to the desktop where the prescription pad was clearly sitting.

The shrink glared at him for a moment and then flipped open Ethan's file on the desk and gazed down at it. "When's the last time you had Ethan into the Rehabilitation Center, Hank?" he asked lifting some of the pages and reading.

Voight folded his hands at that. "Well, let's see. After they finished piecing together his fucking skull and brought him out of the coma they put him in for three fucking weeks, they made us go through what … seven months of fucking rehab? Five. Fucking. Years ago."

"You've had follow up since, though?" the doctor asked, still reading the file.

Follow-up. Fucking follow-up? Did this guy even comprehend what was involved in treating a kid who'd been smeared across the road? Follow-up. His fucking kid had to be pieced back together bit by bit. They'd had to slowly reteach him how to walk and talk and eat - and even fucking breath on his own again.

The fucking dick of a firefighter had once asked him if he knew what it was like at a spinal center. Fuck that. Try having your seven year old in a brain trauma center you fucking dunce. Try having to take him back to that place for years for follow up and prodding and poking. Watching him hang in harnesses and struggle with the simplest fucking things. Having to feed and cloth him like he was an infant again. Him not being able to communicate with you at the start beyond tears - and you just having to know (to fucking hope) that you know your kid and you know what he wants and needs. What does a kid who's had his brain rattled want and need?

To get out of the fucking hospital. That was what. To have to go back as little as possible.

So Hank had fucking learned. All this physical therapy crap. He'd become Ethan's torturer so he could get his son home. So they only had to go in there for "follow-up" and so he wasn't in there for months and months more than what had already been robbed from his childhood. From his family. His life.

So Hank didn't answer this asshole's fucking question now.

Another page flipped. "I assume you haven't had him in for the past two years?" the doctor said flatly. "I haven't been sent any updates for his records."

The temperature seemed to drop in the room. The doctor finally looked up. Hank just he glared at him – challenging him to continue on with this line of questioning. The man finally let out another small sigh when it became clear he was going to lose the staring match. He pulled out his chair and settled behind his desk, watching Hank for a moment more and then tapping on the file.

"It was Dr. Kendall at the Brain Trauma Center at Chicago Med who referred you here originally," the shrink said evenly.

"Yeah," Voight rasped. "For you to deal with his fucking anxiety and trauma. Your solution to that has been to pump my kid full of drugs. So have at it doc. Give us the pills and we'll see you again next year."

The doctor frowned at him. "Hank, your son hasn't been in the city for the past two years for me to be treating him as a full-time patient. I advised you seek out a therapist in his school community."

"Mmm," Voight acknowledged. "Good plan. With middle schoolers. Make him even more of a mark."

"I can assure you that Ethan would not have been the only student there seeing a therapist of some sort."

"You don't fucking say," Voight put back to him drily.

The doctor sighed and again looked down at the file again. "Is he still considered at patient at the Trauma Center?"

"We did rehab. We did the follow-up. Beyond this emotional crap – my son is fine."

The doctor lifted up his glasses and pinched at the bridge of his nose, his eyes drifting shut as he did so. He sat there for a time and then finally let his glasses fall into place.

"OK, Hank, I've been dealing with the 'emotional crap' in all three of your kids for the five years since their mother died," he said. "I'm happy to refill Ethan's prescriptions – but anxiety and PTSD medications are not going to fix the problems you were describing earlier … with his reading and his math and his grades."

"So add some Ritalin to the mix," Voight ordered.

The doctor snorted at him. "Hank," he said sternly. "We both know your son isn't ADD. Any concentration or attention problems he has to do with his brain injury."

"The doctors said he was fine. The school assessments – his fucking placements – said he was fine," Hank pressed back.

"Well, I think it's time he got reassessed," the shrink said flatly.

"So rather than just giving him this fucking PTSD label you can start calling him a retard too?" Hank said flatly.

"No," the doctor said to him sharply. "So your family can access the services Ethan is going to need to get through the rest of his schooling. He should likely be on an IEP."

"The doctors and the schools said he was fine," Hank said again, now seething. "He passed the assessments. Right now, he's having some focus and concentration issues. He's acting out a little bit more than usual. He's twelve. That's normal. I went through it with both my other kids—"

"Your other children did not have a traumatic brain injury," the doctor said with some exasperation and then sighed. "I know you're uncomfortable with labels being placed on your son but –"

"Write the damn prescription," Voight pressed loudly –his voice raising just a touch, enough to depict his seriousness.

The doctor seemed to startle by it slightly and sat uncomfortably looking at him for several beats.

"Hank, I'm sure when Ethan was being seen in the Trauma Center they explained to you that with brain injury in children that this is rather common. That some of effects aren't seen until years later. That it's very common to notice them when they're in Grade 5, Grade 6. That you'll likely have a hump like this to deal with again with him in high school and likely when he's transitioning into college and even after college – starting his life out on his own."

"He's twelve. It's middle school," Hank said. "I don't need him to be a Rhodes Scholar. The other two damn well weren't. I just need him to be functional and literate."

"It is hard for children who experienced traumatic brain injury to be fully functional as they age," the shrink pressed back. "All of a sudden they are being asked to deal with more complex social interactions. More complex problem solving. More complex thought processes. It can be more than their brains are able to handle."

"So then figure out how to get him to handle it," Voight said. "You're paid enough to fucking do that."

"The best way for me to 'fucking do that' is to refer Ethan back to the Trauma Center at Chicago Med," the fucking shrink put to him.

Hank just glared at him. The Trauma Center had not been a positive experience. The rehabilitation program and watching what Ethan had to go through had nearly destroyed what was left of his family in those months after Camille's death. The thought of taking his son back to the fucking place for any assessment or programs or treatment was making him want to go and find someone to give a fucking Chicago Necklace. To drop them into the lake. To get into their face and slap them fucking silly.

He didn't care how long his family had been fucking seeing this shrink. He didn't care that Justin and Erin had cried their tears with this fucking friendly shoulder to lean on with this little bespectacled turd. Right now it was this idiot that he wanted to beat the fuck out of. Because he was sitting there – and asking him to put his son through more than he'd already been through. Because he was sitting there and fucking saying that his kid who'd he'd been told was going to be all right wasn't actually quite all right and he was fucking going to have to deal with this for the rest of his life more than he had to fucking deal with it the rest of his life.

And that was Voight's fault. He'd brought that onto his family. Onto his wife. Onto his son. There wasn't any redemption for that. There were just fucking dues to collect. And he was still fucking collecting them.

"He needs to be undergo a new behavioral and cognitive assessment – now that he's older," the shrink pressed when apparently he felt like Voight had again been glaring at him too long in silence. "They'll likely want to order some new imaging too. Now that his brain is undergoing further changes with the start of puberty. There's a lot going on in there. And, since he's here this summer and will be starting in a new school, I think it would make the most sense to get him assessed as soon as possible – so you can give the school all the information possible and so you can get him some extra help, if necessary."

"My kid gets fucking bullied enough," Voight spat. "He's not going into fucking special ed."

"An IEP, Hank," the shrink said flatly. "Not special ed." Hank just glared again. His eyes drilling into him. "Look, Hank," the shrink pressed forward. "Even some of the behaviors you were describing – him being obsessive about organization and things being just so. The acting out. The need to give him a schedule and structure but him needing extra time to complete most tasks. All of that is behaviors that you see in kids with TBI. And it's Ethan trying to create coping mechanisms for himself. The Center will be able to help both of you – and his school – develop strategies that are more functional. That he'll be able to apply in the long-term. In every day life."

Hank glared and pushed himself out of the chair, stepping forward to the desk and jabbed his finger harshly on the prescription pad that was sitting there.

"Write his prescriptions," he said flatly.

The shrink looked at him. "Hank, I really don't think I can contentiously continue to treat Ethan if you don't agree to take him back to the Trauma Center for assessment and treatment there. For them to give their expert opinion on what is going on."

Voight shoved the pad closer to the doctor. "Write the damn prescriptions," he ordered.

The shrink eyed him – seeing the raging seriousness in them and let out a quiet sigh and picked up his pen, scribbling into the paper. Hank reached and ripped it off as his signature appeared on the page.

"I want the fucking PTSD bullshit too and something to help him sleep through the night without fucking night terrors," Voight spat.

The doctor gave him a glance and then reluctantly picked his pen back up and started scrawling across the pad again.

"So, I'll get the referral sent off to Dr. Kendall," he said as he wrote.

Voight just snatched the rest of the prescriptions from him. "You do whatever makes you feel better, doc," he graveled and started to make his way for the door.

"So they'll be calling you …" the doctor called after him.

Voight didn't respond. Just like he wasn't sure he'd be responding to that call and putting his son through that bullshit again either. He was his father. He could fucking deal with this without his boy being labeled as some fucking retarded vegetable. Their family had earned more than that.


	24. Babysitter

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Burgess immediately straightened from where she was leaning against Adam's desk as she saw Voight get to the top of the stairs. He glanced at them, they briefly met eyes. But Burgess uncomfortably looked away.

She knew his rules about relationships in his unit. That he was only vaguely tolerating it between her and Adam. She hadn't meant for them to be flaunting it. Voight hadn't been there. But now they'd been caught. Not that he'd really caught them in anything. They'd been talking. Still, sometimes she got the sense that even that was too much in his opinion.

He didn't say anything, though. Not verbally. But the sergeant was good at depicting exactly what he was thinking without saying a word.

Burgess' eyes, however, didn't stay on Voight very long. A scrawny little kid was trailing several steps behind Voight and Adam sat up a bit straighter in his seat and gave her a little nod. He'd mentioned that Voight had had a "mystery kid" into the previous week. It hadn't taken too long for everyone to pinpoint that it was Voight's son. It didn't exactly seem to be shocking news to anyone in the building beyond some of them. But, she supposed they hadn't been around that long. And, really, you only ever wanted to know so much about Hank Voight. His family history wasn't really an area you wanted to dig into. Even coming to grips with his career was best left well-enough alone.

The kid definitely had Voight's build. Or at least stature. He was a little short considering he was apparently twelve. Though, Burgess supposed that all depended on when the kid hit a growth spurt. She knew kids that age could suddenly be these lanky string beans overnight. But right now the kid looked a bit more like a clumsy puppy. The shorter height was about where the similarities to Voight ended. She supposed that Voight's hair might've been a bit of a dirty blonde at some point but this kid was definitely blonde and his dad was obviously graying. He must look more like his mother but she'd never seen a picture of Voight's dead wife to really know. Adam seemed to think he might've met her once but his review was pretty much, "Yeah, I think she was nice?"

Burgess would actually be kind of interested to meet the woman who'd married Voight. She must've been some sort of saint to have the patience to deal with a man like Voight. Or she was entirely submissive. Though, Burgess didn't get the sense that wholly obident would likely be exactly what Voight looked for in a woman either. It would've been an interesting relationship to see, though. Because they seemingly had made it work? They'd been married long enough to have kids – one of which would've been in his teens when she died. That's the real deal and it was more than a lot of cops could ever say. And detectives? It was a rough gig. She wondered what Voight's wife had done professionally? She couldn't have just been a housewife? Burgess couldn't imagine being with anyone else but a cop at this point in her life. Who else would be able to understand and tolerate the schedule and the job and what it did to you? But as part of her rule about not knowing too much about Voight – she'd never pried to know what or who his wife was.

Burgess wanted Voight's respect. She wanted to be under his command. She wouldn't have his respect ever if he caught on she was too interested in his personal history – let alone if he caught her digging into it. It was best not to know.

Voight glanced around the bullpen. "Where's Lindsay and Halstead?" he demanded.

Antonio leaned forward at his desk, glancing around his computer screen. He seemed totally unfazed by the kid being there.

"Sent them over to talk to that guy at store from that call we got this morning," he said. It was clear he was being purposely vague with the kid standing in their bullpen. Though, the kid was gazing across the room at the case board – so the vague route might not be hiding much of anything. "Mouse got some numbers to pop on his phone records."

Voight made a grunt of acknowledgement and he looked back through the bullpen. His eyes landing on her. Burgess fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Burgess," he barked and pointed at the kid. "Set him up in there." He pointed over at the glassed-in lounge area. She could see the kid eyeing her. He looked far from impressed. Actually, he pretty much had his dad's pissed off look down. To the point it was almost scary. Burgess actually wasn't sure she wanted to be alone in a room with him.

"Ah …," she started. "I should likely probably—"

"You don't look busy," Voight said frankly. There was an accusation to it too. A tone that clearly indicated that she should always be doing something. That she shouldn't be dicking around – and he'd caught her dicking around.

"Ah …," Burgess stuttered and moved her eyes back to the glare of the boy. "Sure, OK. I can watch him for a while."

Voight didn't even wait for her to give her agreement. But the time she moved her forced smile from the kid back to the sergeant's direction, he was already turned and heading back into his office.

"Alvin," he rasped as he disappeared inside.

Alvin spun in his chair – once again appearing from his disappearance into nowhere while being in absolute plain sight. He had a gift for camouflage. For blending in. For going unnoticed. It was admirable. Something she'd like to learn from him. He rose, chewing on his toothpick (as usual) and wearing a slouched beanie (as usual, even though it was almost July).

His hand plopped on heavily on the kid's head as he went by. "Nice hat, kid," he said flatly.

"Thanks," the boy said quietly, looking down. "It's this year's All-Star on field one."

"Sweet," Alvin said. It sounded strange and awkward out of him but somehow it worked when he was talking to this kid it sounded okay.

"Dad got it," the kid said quietly again. "It was a birthday present."

Alvin gave another little nod and something that almost resembled a thin smile hidden under his moustache. "Belated birthday," he said flatly and kept walking toward Voight's office.

"Hey … Uncle Alvin …" the kid called a little timidly. But Olinsky stopped and gave him a glance. "Thanks for finding a team for me."

The smile was a little more sincere. "No problem, Kiddo," he allowed and then disappeared into Voight's office, closing the door behind him.

The kid stared at the door for a bit and then gave her a squint-eyed look.

"Ah …," Burgess thought and gave him another forced smile. "So … do want to color or something?"

He really squinted at her at that. "I'm twelve," he told her with a tone that clearly depicted that he thought she was a complete idiot.

"Oh, right," Burgess nodded. "Twelve. So you want to … ?"

"Skateboarding," Adam suggested, leaning forward on his desk and further scrutinizing the kid. "I was all about skateboarding when I was twelve. You into that?"

"No," the kid said flatly. Now he was the one scrutinizing Adam.

"OK," Adam nodded with some deep thought. "What are you into?"

"Baseball," he nearly spat – again clearly like he thought they were both idiots now.

"And, boxing," Antonio piped up from across the bullpen. The kid looked and he flashed him a smile.

Adam sat back in his chair and gave a look at her. He shrugged. "Don't know much about baseball or boxing. Especially baseball or boxing that you could do in the lunch room."

Burgess gave him a little sigh and looked back to the kid but he just looked away – looking back at his dad's office door.

"It's OK," he said softly. "I don't need a babysitter."

He turned and trudged toward the room that Voight had directed him to. Burgess hurried after him. She'd been told to watch him – and as lame as that assignment was, she was definitely going to do it. Especially when it was Voight that told her to do it and it was his kid. She'd likely be in shit if she didn't keep an eagle eye on him.

"I'll just hang out with you," she said overly cheerily. "Maybe we can play some cards or something."

He gave her another death stare and put his hand on the door. "No," he said. "I'll wait for my sister."

"Sister?" Burgess said somewhat confused. Was she going to have to babysit two kids? God. She didn't know if that was above or below her pay grade. But either way it wasn't really a beat she wanted.

"Lindsay," Antonio said flatly behind her.

She gave him a glance while she processed that. It took a moment to click. "Oh, right!" she allowed. "That makes sense."

But as she turned back to the door, the kid was closing it in her face and wandering over to the table, slumping down in a bit of a sulk.

"Ah …," she sputtered. "Umm. OK. Well, I'll just be out here if you need anything," she called through the door.

She looked at Antonio. "I should … stay. Right?"

He didn't even glance at her. "I'd say so."

She nodded. "OK, right," she agreed and glanced around and then dragged over and empty chair and sat down on it, glancing around the bullpen. Adam gave her a smile and looked away – clearly laughing at her. She gave him a death glare similar to what Voight's kid had been giving her.

She felt like she was on guard duty outside a hospital room door. Actually—she felt like an idiot.

Is this really what she had to do to get back on Intelligence?

She supposed it was worth a try. If it kept her on Voight's good side.

 **So the reader stats on this story keep creeping down and I'm not getting many reviews so I'm not sure how much longer I'm going to continue on with it. I have two more chapters written which will be posted - not sure after that. Might shift my focus back to my SVU series instead.**


	25. Duds

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Erin held up a pair of shorts at Ethan.

"How about these ones?"

He didn't even look at them before he shook his head. She sighed loudly at him. He'd been like that since she finished work and got stuck with this duty. She didn't know how she got recruited as a twelve-year-old boy's stylist. But she supposed even though it wasn't something she particularly wanted to do she'd still do a better job at it than Hank.

"Eth, your dad wants you to pick out a couple pairs of shorts," she told him – again – with an edge of annoyance.

"I don't like shorts," he mumbled. He'd been going out of his way avoid looking at anything in the store. He was just staring at his feet.

"Well, your dad wants you to get a couple pairs and some swim trunks. So –"

"I'm not going swimming," Ethan said a bit more forcibly – casting her an evil eye.

She directed her own glare right back at him. "Camp goes swimming like every day."

He just shrugged. But Erin knew what he was on about.

Ethan's scars weren't just contained to his face. There were parts of his torso permanently indented and marred with what had happened to his fragile body. Crushing and skidding that should've left him for dead. Thing was he was as fucking stubborn as Hank – he might just not know it yet – and he didn't get killed off easily. He'd proven that. But he did shy away from other kids – or anyone – looking at him, talking about him. Or he went on a rampage. She supposedly thankfully this appeared to be the former.

Ethan wasn't likely to expose himself to a bunch of little snotty kids who would ask questions – or worse. He wasn't about to place himself in a situation to be mocked and bullied again – after going through a year of being mocked and bullied around. To the point he was kicked out of school. Dealing with it that way again – now under his dad's roof – wouldn't life.

It was likely where the short refusal was coming from too. But really the scars on his legs were minimal. They were mostly the fine lines from surgery when they had to bolt together some of his shattered joints.

"What are you going to do while the rest of the kids are swimming?" Erin asked.

He just shrugged again. "Sit. Watch."

"Ethan," she put to him harshly, "kids will bug you just as much for sitting out. You know what kids that age will be saying?" He gave her a look and she purposely got into his face. "You on your period? Need a tampon, Voight?"

His face changed at that intrusion, crumpling slightly in the realization that she was likely right. But then he just let out a slow sigh, diverted his eyes and shrugged again.

"OK, fine," Erin shook her head. "You do what you want. But just so you know – if any kids have the balls to give you shit about your scars in the pool, your dad will kick someone's ass until they kick their asses."

"No, he won't," Ethan said. "He says I shouldn't let people give me shit."

"You shouldn't," Erin pressed back at him. "But if people are bugging you about that kind of stuff and the counsellors aren't doing anything – your dad isn't going to tolerate it. You think he hasn't had the school on the line every day since you've been home?"

"No," Ethan said.

Erin just rolled her eyes at him. He could be so fucking dense. "He has, Ethan. He's more pissed off at them than you." He examined her carefully at that assertion. "But you sit out on the deck and some kid teases you – your dad will let you sort that out yourself."

"I can take care of myself," he spat at her.

She looked at him sternly. "Yeah, you're doing a real good job of that. And sorting it out yourself, Ethan, it can't involve fists anymore. Unless you want to end up at Camp Bellwood. And, there, with these," she said and gave him a small poke in his still sore ribs. He flinched away from her, protectively drawing his hand across his chest. "You will be sitting out all summer. Bored out of your mind. And don't expect to be here in the fall either."

"I don't want to go to St. Ignatius anyways," he muttered, letting his arm drop.

"That so?" she pressed. "Where would you rather be, Eth? Military school?" She shook her head. "Your head is still shoved up your ass. Pull it out. You don't got things so bad."

She yanked another pair of shorts off the rack and looked at them. They looked fine to her. She didn't really care what he got. Just that she got him home with a shopping bag and it kept Hank from giving her some sort of passive aggressive lecture about what her role and responsibilities were in all of this.

Role and responsibilities? It was kind of pissing her off. It sounded like she was the one supposed to be chiefly responsible for watching him. For looking out for him. He'd done the same thing when Justin got out of jail. Basically she was supposed to be the good cop while Hank was the bad one. It wasn't much of a stretch.

"You always say that," Ethan muttered at her.

She glanced at him. "Yeah, E, I do. Because you want to hear what my life looked like at when I was twelve?"

"No," Ethan mumbled and looked away from her. She knew he didn't. He'd heard some variation of the story for likely as long as he could remember – from her and Hank and even Justin. He was likely more that sick of it. But he also had a nice enough life that he probably couldn't really comprehend it.

Erin could only wish that Hank had come to her rescue when she was twelve. Eleven through fourteen had been a living hell – with her mom and hitting puberty and fucking strung out assholes in-and-out of whatever dump they were crashing in suddenly thinking that she was a "woman" they could touch. Bunny suddenly seeing her as competition rather than a daughter – a little girl.

Erin had been left to navigate it all on her own. To try to figure it out. And, she'd gotten taken advantage of in just as awful ways even if it wasn't under her mother's "roof". Drugs, alcohol, boys … men … sex. That wasn't what life was supposed to look like when you were that age. It wasn't how you were supposed to grow up.

She could only dream what it'd be like to have a "normal" childhood. To have a mom and a dad. To have gotten to grow up in a household like the Voights. To have her own room and birthday presents and Christmas presents and dinners on the table and lunches packed for school. To have the option to take part in activities and sports and parties with kids her age. To go on field trips and to a school that was clean and safe – even if it was full of mean girls. To have all kinds of opportunities. And mostly to be safe and cared for.

At least she got it for high school. For her teens. That was more than some kids. It was enough to give her a glimpse of what normalcy looked like. It was enough to get her back on a straight and narrow path. It was enough to have saved her. She'd probably be a strung out junkie working a corner if Voight hadn't stepped in – and really stepped in. Or she'd be in jail. Or she'd be dead. Even if she'd still been alive, she would've been dead on the inside if it hadn't been for Hank. And Camille. And even Justin and Ethan.

Sure, living with Hank wasn't entirely easy. He was a hard man. A tough father. And Camille had her rules too. Things hadn't been perfect. There'd been challenges and humiliations and fighting and times she thought about running away. But ultimately, living in that house was better than any alternative she could come up with.

Ethan should know that too.

"What size are you?" she muttered at him. Letting him bypass the lecture this time. For now.

"I don't know," he mumbled right back at her.

She let out an even more exasperated sigh at him and reached, spinning him around a little roughly.

"Hey!" he countered.

Erin pulled up the back of his jeans and rolled the waist slightly until she could see the tag. She flopped the pair she had back on the rack and sorted through and grabbed a pair that was a more suitable size.

"You going to pick a second pair or do I have to do that for you too?" she pressed.

"Why are you acting so mad at me?" he demanded.

"Because you're making this difficult, Ethan!" she raised her voice slightly. "We could've been in-and-out of here in like ten minutes and instead … you're acting like a five-year-old."

"I am not!" he whined.

"Case and point," she muttered and went to the opposite side of the rack. Screw looking for another style. She was just going to get him another color of the same cargos so they could be done with this.

"You're being a bitch because dad's mad again," Ethan said flatly.

She gave him a small glance and moved through the section to the swim trunks. She'd just grab something there too – make Voight happy. She'd likely pick the ugliest pair possible to piss of Ethan, though, since he was being the actual little bitch in the equation.

"Why's your dad pissed again?" she muttered.

There were some Hawaiian-looking swim trunks. They appeared suitably ridiculous. Though, she gave a small sigh and shifted her attention to some of the less flashy ones. It'd likely be better to get him a pair he might actually agree to put on at some point. Seeing as his review of the first two days of day camp had been less than stellar.

Ethan seemed to feel he was one of the older kids in camp. There was likely some truth to that. Though, the program covered kids up to fifteen, kids in his age-range likely found themselves in a more interest-specialized camp. He'd kind of just ended up where they could fit an extra kid and in a park that was half-ways convenient for her and Hank to get him to and feel confident about him navigating transit to get to boxing for the few hours after. It wasn't some sports camp or computer camp or robot camp or animation camp or some crazy thing. It was just city day camp. Field sports and playground time and some crafts and pool outings. An occasional field trip to nowhere that was likely to be particularly stimulating to a twelve-year-old. But it was home and it was something to do during the day – so he wasn't locked in the room and they knew he was at least fairly likely to stay out of trouble.

She grabbed a pair of solid blue trunks and pointed at the rashguards sitting on the next rack.

"Look. You could wear a shirt in the pool."

Ethan glanced at the shirts but gave no comment. Erin picked open up and eyed it and the price. Hank would likely have a comment about paying for it when Ethan could wear a tshirt in the pool but she decided to fuck it. If he wanted a say in what she spent his money on – he should've been on there spending it himself.

"You want to pick out a tshirt or shirt or something?" she asked Ethan. "Your dad said you could."

Ethan just squinted at her. "WHY'S DAD MAD AT ME?" he demanded.

She made a snorting sound. "Ethan, I don't know what you're talking about. He's mad because you screwed up at school," she said and then waved the hangers at him. "And, he's clearly not that upset. Consider yourself lucky. Justin was stuck wearing your dad's clothes until he got himself some cash to stock up again on his own."

"He's mad today," Ethan protested but trailed after her as she moved to the tshirt section. She held a Cubs tshirt in his face to see if that at least got some agreement out of him but he just batted it away. "He didn't talk to me all afternoon."

"He was at work, Eth," she said. "And, it was like two hours. Not all afternoon."

"So he's mad," Ethan said.

"He's not mad," Erin said exasperatedly.

"Then why'd he make you come out with me?"

She gave him a look. "You think your dad wants to be shopping for clothes with you? Ethan, I don't want to be shopping for clothes with you. And, if you were being like this with your dad – yeah, he'd be mad."

"What'd he say to you?"

She shrugged. "Nothing. To get you a couple pairs of shorts, swim trunks and a shirt or two – and handed me a wad of cash. If you stop being such a baby, I might buy you dinner with the change."

Ethan squinted at her. "Whad he say 'bout the doctor?"

She sighed and leaned against the rack closest to her, examining him for a moment. "Nothing, Ethan," she said. "We've got a case going on right now. It's busy. We're busy. We didn't have a chance to talk about it. And, Eth, your dad doesn't like family chit-chat seeping into the workplace. We wouldn't be talking about it there anyways."

"But you'll talk about me?"

Erin looked up at the roof for a moment. She was annoyed. "Your dad is keeping me abreast of the situation in the way he's comfortable with," she allowed. "We aren't having little gossip-fests behind your back."

She actually wished that Hank talked to a little bit more about what was going on and his thought processes. But that wasn't his style. At least he'd heard her out. To a point. That was about as much as she could ask for.

"So you don't know what the doctor said?"

"No, what did the doctor say?" she put back to him.

Ethan shrugged and looked away. "I don't know. He made me leave so he could talk to dad and then he was all angry and hasn't talked to me since."

Erin let out a little sigh. "Ethan, that's just the way your dad is. He's not exactly a Chatty Kathy. Or a cuddly bear. You need to … stop getting so worked up about it. You're stressing out about nothing."

"You don't know it's nothing," he mumbled.

"I do know it's nothing," she said. "Because if he was mad at you – you'd know. And if something had happened in the doctor's office that needed to be dealt with right this instant – your dad would be on a warpath to deal with it. He's not. He's at work – dealing with what is clearly a more pressing issue to him at the moment."

"Work is always a more pressing issue," Ethan said quietly.

"That's bullshit, Ethan," she said firmly and glared at him.

"It's true," he sulked. "It's why he sent me away and he will just do it again. Just wait."

"He will if you keep this fucking attitude going," she pressed back at him and then shook her head. "And, holding that against him – him sending you to school – it's just … so immature."

"It's what he did," Ethan said flatly.

"It's not what he did," Erin pressed back. "He came up with a solution to keep you safe while he couldn't do that himself."

"You mean while him and Justin were in jail."

Erin gazed at the ceiling for a long beat, letting out a slow breath. "I know this is super hard for you to understand – but your dad wasn't in jail. He was just … being held while some things got sorted out."

"For months," Ethan said. "So he sent me away."

"Yes," Erin sighed. "So you could continue on with your life and schooling in a normal way."

"It wasn't normal," Ethan said. "Having your brother and dad in jail is not normal!"

"He wasn't in jail!" she pressed back at him exasperatedly. "Just … he did what he needed to do at the time. That's all you need to know."

"Why didn't you let me stay with you?"

Erin let out a laugh and looked at him. "OK, one, Ethan, you aren't my kid. I only get so much say in any decision. And the say I get – not fucking much. And, two, I was still working the beat. I couldn't be managing you too. Your dad was trying to keep both our lives as normal and as easy as possible."

"It wasn't easy!" he yelled at her to the point that people around them cast a look their way.

She gave him a glare. "I understand that," she said. "But you're home now – and you just need to get over it and move on."

She saw that Ethan wasn't looking at her anymore in their discussion. He was looking passed her and squinting a little. She gave him a questioning look but turned to see Jay standing not far behind her.

"I interrupting something?" he asked.

She gave him a look. "Are you following me?" she demanded of him with a touch of annoyance. First she is stuck dealing with work bullshit, then Hank's bullshit and then Ethan's bullshit – and now here he was.

"Ah, no," he said, giving her a look that was somewhere between hurt and insulted. He pointed behind him. They were clearly within the line of sight from the window. "I was walking by. I saw you," he glanced around at where they were standing, "having an apparently very heated discussion about tshirts."

Erin allowed him a small smile for that and then cast Ethan a look. "He won't pick out a tshirt. Or shorts."

Jay gave a little nod at that. "I can see why," he said, glancing around the store again. "This seriously where you bring the kid to shop?"

"It's near work," Erin said annoyed.

"Yeah," Jay said and picked up a shirt with some sort of cartoon character on it that Erin didn't recognized. He made a face. "That's really not helping your case."

"Says the guy hanging out front," Erin deadpanned.

"Ah, no," Jay held up his hand in correction. "I was walking by. I'm not the one shopping in here."

Ethan made an amused sound and Erin cast him a look.

"Oh, you think that's funny, do you?" she put to him and he just shrugged. "You suddenly going to spend all this money from your dad if we go to another store?"

"How'd much Voight give you?" Jay asked, leaning against a rack.

"That's none of your business," Erin snapped at him.

He held up a hand. "Hey, OK. I was just trying to gauge if you could do any better than … this …" he said and held up a rather said representation of Jaws plastered on another tshirt and gave Ethan a look. "Good movie, sad shirt."

A smile pulled a bit more at the corner of Ethan's lips but he looked down – trying to hid it.

"And where would you suggest we go shopping, Jay?" Erin said, though he was earning a small smile from her too.

"Pretty much anywhere but here," he said and stepped up to her and took the shorts out of her hands, holding each hanger up individually and shaking his head. "No," he said after examining each one and hung them on the rack she was standing next to her. "Do not get fashion advice from her," he told Ethan.

"And who should he get fashion sense from?" she asked. "You? You know colors exist beyond black, Jay."

"Black is a shade," he told her flatly and looked at Ethan. "You want to see where to get some real duds?"

"Duds?" Erin teased back at him. "I think your duds will be duds." She picked up the hangers off the rack. "We're almost done here. We're getting dinner and going home."

Jay shot her another smile. "Great, dinner," he said and again took the hangers out of her hand and put them back on the rack. "That's where I was going. You like burritos, kid?"

"Yeah …" Ethan said someone unsurely.

Jay pointed toward the door – being sure to keep his eyes on Ethan and not catching hers at all. "Whatcha say? Burritos two blocks that way. Get you some threads a hell of a lot better than this another three blocks after that."

Ethan moved his eyes to look at Erin. There was clearly a questioning to them. Wondering if this was OK. He probably wasn't too interested in the clothes – but burritos? Or at least chips and salsa? Ethan could likely eat a plate of those all by himself. Though, it wasn't likely to go over too well when Hank asked them what they had for dinner. But fuck it.

Erin looked at Halstead. "He needs a swim suit."

"I don't," Ethan protested.

Erin shot him a look and looked back to Jay. "He needs a swim suit," she said even more firmly. "Where you taking us going to have them?"

He shrugged. "Sure."

She squinted at him. She wasn't sure she entirely believed him. This seemed a bit like a ploy to be nosey or to try to earn some brownie points with her. It might be a bit of a dangerous game since Ethan lacked in filters and this was likely going to get back to Voight in some way, shape or form. But again – fuck it. It was her free time – even if she was on big sister duty, which was kind of feeling a lot more like mom duty.

She gestured at the door. "Lead the way," she said.

Jay gave her a small smile and gestured instead to Ethan. "Lead the way," he said.

Ethan squinted. "I don't know where we're going."

Halstead offered him a bit of an amused look. "We're right behind you, kid."

Ethan eyed him suspiciously for a moment but then started heading for the door, Jay and Erin following behind him.

"Thought I told you not to poke the cub?" Erin said quietly to Jay.

He shrugged. "I thought I was just playing nice," he said. "Helping you out. Taking you out for dinner."

"You've never taken me out for dinner," she said.

"Sure I have," Jay countered.

She gave him a look but then she realized they had shared that one dinner out. Where she'd given him a glimpse of her past that he'd mostly been respectful of. Perhaps until now when he seemed to want to pry a bit more than she thought was reasonable. But he didn't like secrets. It made her wonder what secrets he had – but she didn't want to pry either.

"You usually just take me to bed," she said at a near whisper, making sure Ethan wasn't likely to hear.

Jay gave her a look. "Well, you don't let me do that anymore," he said flatly. "So the least you can do is let me buy you a burrito."

She let out a small laugh. "Right," she allowed. "That's the least I can do."

He nodded. "The least," he said and gave her a smile.

Erin just hoped that there weren't ulterior motives in this little gathering that might come back and bite her in the ass. Because she still wasn't sure Hank wanted much of anyone knowing much of anything about Ethan. And, if anyone was going to ask questions and want answers, it was going to be Jay. And, unfortunately, it might be Ethan who opened his big mouth and gave them to him. But Erin was hoping that he might decide to play shy instead. Anti-chatty like his dad could go a long way.

 **Again, I have one more chapter written that I'll post. I'm undecided if I'll continue after that due decreasing readership. I write SVU series as well.**


	26. Comfort and Strength

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Ethan glanced at Hank as he came to the door of the bedroom. He'd clearly been gazing at a framed photo from one of the boxes but quickly dropped it back into the box and pretended to be lugging one of his bulking binders of baseball cards over to the bookshelf instead.

"Starting to look good in here," Hank offered him, and stepped inside moving toward where the box he was working on emptying was sitting on the bed.

It was true. The room was looking more like a bedroom than it had in years. And there was space to move. An added bonus. The room really had been a little cramped to have two boys in it. But the house only had so much space.

It was a little strange, though, to see the bedroom taking shape as a place for his youngest. Ethan had been doing a good job at picking away at it – without much complaint. They'd gotten Justin boxes moved and the stuff for the baby hauled down for temporary storage in the basement. Now it was the storage and laundry space that didn't have much room to move. It'd be OK, though. Hank would get Justin's boxes better organized under the stairs and hopefully in a few weeks he and Olive would be there to get the crib and change table out of his fucking space.

They'd decided to leave the bunk bed set up for the moment. Ethan had waffled on whether or not he wanted it. When Hank had pointed out he could reassemble it so the kid had a loft bed and they could put the dresser or the desk under it to give the room a bit more space, his son seemed even more confused and indecisive. So whatever. They'd leave it. See where they were at when the school year started up again. Besides even if Ethan was there, Hank suspected major homework supervision was going to be happening – so having a desk set up in the kid's room wasn't likely going to be necessary. It was going to be a giant pain in the ass.

The kid had some clothes hanging in the closet now. In the drawers of the dresser. Little fucking knickknacks starting to line the bookshelves again that hadn't been sitting there for years. Dinosaurs. Baseball caps and balls and Little League trophies. G.I. Joe figures and some various little cop car diecasts from back in the day when Hank had still tried to brainwash his kids that they wanted to join up. One of them was even something his own dad had given him and it'd travelled down between both his boys only to end up in a box and now back sitting on a shelf – likely just collecting dust. Maybe Justin's son would get it at some point – when Ethan was ready to let it go.

Strange to see it all. Strange to have a kid back in the house. He'd been starting to live the delusion of being a bit of an empty-nester. It wasn't so much that as it felt like he was supposed to be alone in the house. That that was part of the punishment for what had happened to Camille. That if she wasn't in the house, he didn't really get to have any of the kids there. For a long while having the kids there had been hard.

Comfort and strength? That's the fucking line some of these assholes feed you. What your kids were supposed to be after you lost your spouse. A distraction. A reason to live and keep going. Hank didn't buy into that bullshit. Being his reason wasn't his fucking kids responsibilities. Any jack-off that felt that way might as well just eat their gun right then – because they were already being selfish fucking bastards. Might as well finish it off.

Camille dying – what'd happened, why it'd happened – that was enough to keep him going. Because someone had to fucking pay for that. There had to be redemption in the retaliation. The revenge. And, after that, his kids fucking needed their father. Probably more than before. Because all of them had acted out in their own ways after that. They'd fucked up and gotten fucked up. And gotten themselves in all kinds of fucking situations that likely wouldn't have happened if Camille had been around. And, dealing with all that – that was Hank's duty. His responsibility. They were his fucking kids. Period. It wasn't about strength or comfort. That wasn't derived from his children. They were children. Not some sort of magic answer to all life's problems.

Hank looked into the box to see what Ethan had put down before retreating in his effort to look very concentrated on reorganizing his little baseball figures in an exact straight line along his bookshelf. The kid could be so OCD. Hank felt a small sting in his chest as he saw the framed photo sitting at the top of the box – turned upside down in a failed attempt to hide what he'd been looking at.

He reached and picked it up, turning it around, and just gazed at it for a moment. That strike to the chest never got much easier with time. It was another lie people told you about losing a spouse – give it time. It was one he'd tried to buy into. One he fed to his kids. One that he fed to people when they asked him how he coped. That it got better with time. That you just needed to give it time.

Thing was time didn't really make it better. Time just made it different. Because you changed. Your life went on. Your kids' lives went on. And you had to keep living and keep moving forward – whether you really wanted to or not. Moving the fuck on was your responsibility – as a person, as a father, as a fucking human being. You were a fucking coward if you didn't. If you took alternative routes. It wasn't like moving on was easy. And, it wasn't like you really ever moved on. You just moved forward. Another day went by on the calendar and you were still breathing even though the love of your life wasn't. Soon that day turned into a week and then a month and then a year. Before you knew it years.

It wasn't like things felt any better years later, though. It was just more time had passed. You realized that you were able to keep living without them. Sometimes you didn't much like living without them. But you did it. What were the alternatives? Hank didn't buy into the alternatives. The coward's way out. He wasn't a fucking coward. You weren't allowed to be a fucking coward when you had kids. Fuck Camille would've slapped him silly. Jumped down his throat so far, if she even caught wind of him having a passing thought about leaving their kids to cope on their own.

Hank wouldn't do that anyways. He'd seen what the system did to kids left to fend for themselves. They had a living reminder in their house. Erin still provided reminders. Especially these days with Bunny being fucking back. Those scars never went away. Didn't matter if the kid was five or seven or fourteen or twenty-nine. That shit stuck with you for life. His kids didn't fall through the cracks. They didn't get left for the city to fucking chew apart and spit out. They got a home. They got stability – such as it was. They got a roof over their head and food in their bellies and clothes on their back. They got fucking rules and responsibilities. And they had people who fucking cared about them. Even if they'd lost their mom in the process.

And, there she was staring back at him right then. Reminding him all over again that he wasn't allowed to fuck up. Not to fuck it up for their family. Not to fuck it up for the kids. Being knee deep in the gang unit. Not being home as much as he should. That might've been OK when she was around – but it wasn't anymore. He'd fucked it up for his family. He brought the bullshit home and it destroyed them. They'd taken his wife but they'd also shattered his family. His kids. Hank would spend the rest of his life making up for that for them. As best he could. He owed that much to Camille. To Justin and Erin and Ethan too. Maybe Ethan the most. A boy that age – they needed their mother – especially when they're in the hospital like that. Hank didn't have the tender touch for that. He pushed Ethan through it. And he dragged him kicking and screaming when the kid thought he wasn't ready. But he'd gotten him through it. Just not the way Camille would've. She likely would've handled it better. Or at least differently.

Because look at that smile. She would've fucking handled it differently.

Hank tried to remember when the photo was taken. He couldn't pinpoint it. He suspected it might've been some sort of work barbecue of Camille's. Looked like summer and a park. And it was just the three of them. Him, Camille and Ethan. The other two were no where in sight. Likely too big for their breeches to be attending something of their mom's. Supporting her. Ethan would've still been little enough that potato sack races and water balloon fights would've been all the rage. Based on the smile and temporary tattoos on his cheekbones, he was having the afternoon of his life. Camille was glowing too. But she always was. She had a smile that could light up a whole room – and then some. Fucking radiant. Her fucking eyes twinkled when she pulled out those grins and they were doing it in the photo too. Hank hated to admit it but he still looked like some sort of gob-smacked teen in the photo with the way he was looking at his wife and son – not the fucking camera – while the other two stared directly into the lens. He had a quite smile pulling at his lips too. But most of the photos with family time, he did. Some of the little wanks in the unit would likely be surprised to see that if they ever got to spend much time in his home – which they wouldn't – and see the family shots on the walls and shelves and end tables.

Thing was as much as Hank hadn't taken down much of Camille's stuff – that he'd left it her house – he had taken down some of the family portraits. It'd only happened the past two years – with the kids gone. With the house empty. With his family really fucking shattered for a second time and him trying to fucking piece the puzzle back together in a meaningful way yet again. All those frames staring at him had just been an added reminder to how much he was floundering in getting his family's life back on track. How much he didn't know how to fix their breaks. He couldn't have Camille staring at him. Reminding him. Those eyes and laughs echoing into his being.

So they'd come down. Gotten put away. For now. Maybe for always. The ones with just him and the kids. The ones of just the kids. They'd stayed up. But Camille's smiling face had slowly been put away. Set aside in boxes and his safe and his bedside drawer – just for him to look at. When he was up to it. When he needed it. He had three in his bedside table that he looked at every night. He was sure the shrink would tell him that wasn't healthy. But what did these fucking shrinks know anyways?

Hank reached and set the photo frame on Ethan's bedside table. Hank might not like having Camille staring at him in every room in the house – but this was Ethan's room and he deserved to at least have some memory of his mother. Especially a happy one. It was sort of an added bonus that he appeared to be a part of that happy memory. Maybe at some point his little boy could see him that way again.

Ethan glanced at him as the frame plunked on the table. He looked at it for a moment but then wordlessly turned back to the shelf.

"You know Erin left a while ago?" Hank put to him.

"Yeah," Ethan said quietly.

"So we're doing talking," Hank said after it was clear 'yeah' was the extent of his response. "You can come back downstairs."

The kid just shrugged at him.

"Hey," Hank barked out a bit more forcibly prompting Ethan to give him a look over his shoulder. "I'm you're father. You don't talk to me in," he mimicked his son's shrugging.

Ethan blinked at him. "OK," he said quietly.

Hank gave a little nod. "So, come down then," he said and started to move toward the door.

But Ethan gave his head a little shake. "I'm just gonna keep working on this."

Hank gave him a sterner look. "What are you working on?"

Ethan's fingers kept twitching at trying to get his little plastic figures to sit the way he wanted. "This," he said.

"Ethan, they're fine," Hank said probably a little too forcibly.

Sometimes the kid's quirks just got to him. He wasn't sure that evening he could handle them – not after the talk with the fucking shrink. And Erin – and all her fucking opinions. Sometimes he felt like Camille had fucking found a way to speak through that girl and just give him hell in ways he didn't want to deal with – or fucking her. Erin was one of the best things that happened to their family – but fuck, some days he still wanted to slap her silly. But that was true of his two boys as well. Kids were blessings and fucking nightmares. That was for fucking sure.

Ethan gave him a hurt glance. "I'm going to do my cards after," he said a little more timidly.

Hank gave him a little nod. "OK," he tried a bit more calmly. "So grab your binder and come downstairs. I want to see what ones you got."

The boy gave him another little headshake.

Hank let out a slow breath and crossed his arms, glaring at the kid. "Look, Magoo, I've done the whole teenager living in their room thing twice before. You've seen how it works here. In this house, you don't get to live in your room."

"The door's open," he said meekly.

"Good," Hank said.

He did acknowledge that so far Ethan had been doing a good job at toeing the line and honoring the rules. One of them was that they didn't do closed doors in their house. Likely wasn't a huge deal with Ethan yet at twelve. He wasn't too likely have girls in there yet – and the pot and pharms – he wanted to hope he'd nipped that in the bud for the moment. He had control of Ethan's prescriptions – looked in his desk drawer. And as for him drinking pot or cigarettes or booze into the house? Well, his backpack was getting searched every time he set foot in the house after camp and boxing and Hank fully intended to be doing a bedroom search about once a week to start.

So far, though, he hadn't seen any signs that Ethan had been indulging on his own. He had the kid on a short enough leash it'd be hard for him to get into too much trouble. And he hadn't been around long enough to network with any of the lowlifes to make any connections to hook him up yet either. And – with Hank having confiscated his stash Ethan didn't have his little side business available to peddle to the fucking little kids at camp either. Because that's just what he needed. Fucking twelve-year-old dealer. Jesus Fuck. He'd taken his eye off his youngest too fucking long. The little kid he'd had to send to broading school while things got sorted out had come back too maturely dumb for anyone's good.

"But I want you to come downstairs," Hank said flatly.

"Why?" Ethan asked a little defiantly. "You said one of my jobs is to organize this room. I'm organizing this room."

"And, you're doing a good job," Hank said, "but I want you to come downstairs."

"Why?" Ethan spat again.

"Because I want to talk to you," Hank said flatly but gave him a look to clearly warn him that he was starting to step passed the line and he'd be tossed back so quickly that he wouldn't know what hit him.

"We can talk here," Ethan said. "We're talking now."

"I want to talk to you downstairs – and you'll listen and do as I say, because I'm your father," he said firmly.

Ethan glared at him a moment but then pushed passed him, making for the door. "Open door policy, Dad," he spat. "I already heard you and Erin talking. But fine, I'll go downstairs so you can tell me I'm a retard in the living room."

Hank puckered, holding back the anger that he wanted to spew at the boy. The urge to grab him by the shoulder and spin him around – to tell him not to talk to him that way. That he wouldn't tolerate it. But he bit at his lip while he bit his tongue. Having this conversation with Ethan was going to be hard enough – having it in anger wasn't going to help.

His son was going to be hurt and angry as it was.

His role was to try to fix it.

He glanced over at the frame on the bed stand one more time. Trying to find some kind of fucking answer in those simpler times. Like the Camille there would know. But she didn't. She wasn't there to provide any key. Maybe she wouldn't have known it either. But she'd know better how to say this in a way that didn't make Ethan feel like a retard. Because he wasn't that.

Hank let out a sigh, moved for the door, switched off the light and followed his son downstairs.

 **So this might be the last chapter. At least for a while. I appreciate the comments/reviews I've gotten since I advised that it might be it but still not really sure. The stats and fandom community and reviewers seem a bit better over in SVU land and I've had a lot of requests to continue on with the series on that side of things.**

 **We'll see. I'll see if the stats over here improve at all and how much demand there is for continuance.**


	27. Not Talking

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Erin could hear the TV on through the door but it still seemed to take forever after she knocked for him to open it.

Jay gave her a strange look. She could tell he was surprised. She supposed in a way she was surprised too about where she'd found herself going after she left Hank's.

"Hey?" he said cautiously. He was clearly more of a question than any kind of greeting.

"Hey," she allowed and then pointed her finger passed his shoulder and into his modest apartment when he continued to block the door. "Can I come in?"

He gave her another questioning look but allowed a small smile. "Sure," he allowed and stepped aside, holding the door for her to enter.

She stared at the TV for a moment. Jay had the Cubs game on. She wondered if Hank had the same thing on. It seemed like something Hank would do. Let Ethan watch the game for a bit to try to get his guard down to ease him into a conversation that was likely going to blow up in a few seconds flat. If Hank didn't blow up, Ethan would. Or he'd cry. And that would set Hank off. Hank didn't deal with tears well. But Ethan was just a little boy and this conversation was going to be devastating for him. He didn't understand, though, that it was devastating for Hank too. She'd seen what Hank had been like the last time Ethan had been in the Trauma Center. Sure, this time it would be a different story. Her little brother wasn't broken. He hadn't just come out of a coma and surgery after surgery after surgery. But there was still a lot of pain associated with that place. For both of them. For the whole family.

She'd thought she should stay while Hank talked to Ethan. Hank hadn't agreed. When did he ever agree. Easily, at least. She could've fought with him. Pushed it. Just refused to leave the house – and make him forcibly remove her. Or more likely just delay the conversation.

But she didn't have the energy to fight him on it that night. There were going to be lots of fights anymore. She could tell. Lots of situations where she was going to have to advocate for Ethan. With Hank – but also with doctors and schools and … who knows who the hell else. Fighting him that night didn't make sense. It wasn't worth it. It wasn't going to change the outcome of the conversation. It would've just given Ethan another shoulder to cry on. But maybe it would be better for him to learn how to lean on his dad. How to connect with Hank now that he wasn't just a little boy. Now that he was moving into his teen years. Now that he'd be a fucking adult in a blink of an eye. But somehow it almost seemed like Ethan was already setup to be a more fucked up adult than either her or Justin. Maybe both him and Hank needed time to figure out how to accept that and operate within that.

He wasn't her kid, she had to keep on telling herself. He was just her brother. Her little brother. He had a dad who cared about him. Loved him. They'd get through. She had to give them space to do that. She couldn't always be stepping in. No matter how much she wanted to. And she really fucking wanted to. Maybe that was her redemption. She fucked up with Teddy. She wouldn't make the same mistakes with Ethan.

"Kid spill the beans and get you in trouble already?" Jay asked.

She glanced at him from staring at the TV screen. She suddenly realized that she wasn't sure how long she'd been looking at it. She hadn't really been watching but as she came back to reality she saw that another batter was at the plate – so he'd likely at least let her be a space cadet for a few pitches.

She shook her head and gave him a thin smile. "No, he hadn't said anything yet. But it's only a matter of time. He lacks a fliter."

"Hmm," Jay allowed and raised his eyebrow at her and gave her that mischievous look that made his eyes dance.

Fuck. Why did he have to have such nice eyes? And smile? … And body? … And personality?

Erin looked away again. Going back to staring at the screen.

Jay had been good to Ethan that night. And her. But more to Ethan.

Any hostility he'd directed at her in his demands to know what was going on – who Ethan was, why he was home, what her involvement was, what it meant for – it seemed to have disappeared. At least toward Ethan. Erin partially figured that was just Jay putting on a bit of a game face when he'd come to his own conclusion that he was likely to get more answers from Ethan himself than her.

Though, Erin wasn't sure how much he'd dug out of Ethan. Ethan had been quiet but that was pretty much par for the course. He was only a little twerp to people he knew. He was usually shy with people he didn't know – because he thought they were looking at him. If he didn't get over that soon he was likely going to be the most insecure teenager ever. Either the freak, weird introvert or the crazy kid that you kept 50 yards back from because you knew he was going to fucking snap and go ape shit eventually and you didn't want to be the one around when he did.

But even though Ethan had been quiet, Jay had still been chatty. He always was – in a quiet way. His own way. He knew when to speak and how to talk to the person he was connecting with. He was good at it. And, he'd been good with Ethan. He'd gotten some small, hidden smiles out of him. He'd some how talked Ethan into getting the tacos rather than just a plate of nachos and he'd actually eaten them. All of them. All three. Though, they'd been without cheese – which Jay thought was weird. But Ethan had been too busy stuffing his face to even comment.

Jay had babbled at him about paintball. She didn't even know he liked paintball. She almost doubted he actually did. She thought he just picked a topic that Ethan might like and gone with it when Ethan had sat a bit straighter in his chair and asked a couple questions about what the courses were like and how much the paint balls hurt.

Jay had shrugged at that and gestured at the side of Ethan's face that was still bruised but was starting to look a little less grotesque and swollen now. "What's it matter?" he'd asked. "Looks like you can take a hit." Ethan had squirmed a bit at that and glanced at her. Jay must've noticed and quickly added, "No guts, no glory."

They'd managed to switch into baseball talk instead. Jay seemed equipped to handle that. He was a guy's guy when it came to that kind of thing. She supposed it made sense. Though, he'd indicated he preferred hockey.

That'd been about the only point that Ethan had said much of anything. "Dad likes hockey too," he'd muttered with his mouthful.

"Really?" Jay's ears seemed to perk at that and he cast her a look. "Voight and hockey?"

"Yeah, he used to play," Ethan said.

"Really?" Jay said even more surprised.

"He skates really good," Ethan muttered.

Hank could skate circles around any of them. And then some. There'd been skating and shiny hockey trips as kids. Lots of them. Too many. Justin had played hockey. She'd gotten to spend a lot of time sitting at a rink, trying to keep warm and pretending to care. She supposed she did. It was part of being in the family.

"And I bet he hits like a motherfucker," Jay said but then cast her a look. "Sorry," he apologized – clearly realizing that he'd sworn and said something slightly dispearing about the kid's day.

But Erin had just shrugged at him. "You think he hasn't heard that before?"

Ethan just looked at Jay. "Dad swears lots," he provided aind a way that was so matter-of-fact that she'd seen a smile tug at Jay's lips.

"Yeah, and you aren't allowed to, right?"

"Not really," Ethan conceded.

Jay had eyed her at the humor of it. He was clearly enjoying getting some glimpse behind the scenes about what life in the Voight household might look like.

Erin didn't think Jay actually had a clue. He refused to say much about his family either but from what he did say she got the sense that his family had been fairly normal and stable. That he'd have a decent childhood that was relatively stable. That any instability that happened grew out of his mother getting sick and how he and his brother and their father coped with that. And then the fall out after she died.

He might be surprised to see just how much their family life – at least her family life when it came to her years as part of the Voight household – looked a like. There'd likely been some similar challenges and emotions and experiences there. But maybe they didn't really need to talk about that. Maybe they sensed it in their own ways. Just got it. Respected it. Without having a tear fest about what had been lost in the process and what had happened to the ones that remained.

Jay, though, would likely be surprised to see Hank in his home environment. When things settled down. He was tough but he was a good dad. He was kind and he was affectionate. There'd been hugs in their household and friendly touches and roughhousing. His small ways of showing that he cared. Hank could smile. He could be silly. Not an outright clown – but he could be silly. He could goof around with his kids. He could play. A lot of it was couched in sports – not getting on the floor and playing Lego or dinosaurs. But he played.

He spent time with his kids. He made popcorn and sat on the couch to watch a game or a movie with the family. He made pancake breakfasts when he was home on the weekend and knew what everyone's favorite food was and made sure you got it a couple times a year. He brought home occasional chocolate bars or ice cream – as a treat. And, there was always a Christmas present and birthday present that he'd clearly had the most input in or had bought himself. It hadn't always been Camille buying everything and Hank just signing the card. Even now she still got a card and a gift from Hank at the holidays and on her birthday – on his on accord, without prompting from his wife.

He did laundry. He cleaned – maybe a little too compulsively for all the flak he gave Ethan about his obsessive compulsive tendencies and his speculation it was from the battering the kid to his head. Erin had speculated more than once it might be more genetic and learned behavior than any sort of anxiety-induced fidgeting.

He was a good dad. A good man. She suspected he must've been a pretty decent husband for Camille to have stuck with him all those years. Because even though he was a good person – he was a difficult one. And, there'd certainly been times he hadn't been there. There was absences and days and nights they didn't see him – sometimes several in a row. There was his temper and the fact you knew not to mess with dad and to listen when you were told. But she didn't think any of them had ever worried that Hank would raise a hand at them. Ever. He was more likely to jump in front of a bullet for them – without hesitation – than he was to hit them. Sometimes he got in their faces. Sometimes he grabbed them tightly if they weren't listening or weren't keeping eye contact – but he never hurt them. He never hit them. It was just him governing with a firm hand.

Life in the Voight house was very average. Or at least Erin thought it likely was. Not that she had too many points of comparison. At least not with people who would've been from a similar background and on a similar income level and of a similar mindset. But from the families the Voights did interact with – from what she imagined would be a happy childhood and a normal living situation – they'd provided. Hank wasn't the scary, hard, morally ambiguous cop at home. Not with his family. There weren't grey areas with his family. At least not when you were a kid. She knew as she met more of Hank's associates she wondered more about his life at work. She knew that as Justin grew up too and heard things and saw things – especially in jail – he wondered too. Ethan would go through the same thing. But generally speaking he was very much just dad. He was Hank. He wasn't Sergeant Voight when they were outside of District.

"He seemed pretty mute for a kid who's going to spill the means," Jay muttered and took a slow swig of his beer that he'd brought to the door and now was still holding and joining with her in the stare at the television screen.

They should likely go and sit down. Watch from there. But she didn't come over to watch the game.

Erin shrugged. "That's just Ethan. I thought he was pretty talkative with you. He liked you."

Jay gave her mischievous eyes again. "Yeah?"

"Oh, well, what's not to like," she put back to him with her usual sarcasm.

"I'm pretty cool," he deadpanned at her.

"Oh, absolutely," she said flatly.

He just rolled his eyes at her and took another swig of his beer. "I am pretty cool," he defended himself drily. She gave him a thin smile before looking at the screen again. "You know it. You're back to get your fashion makeover, right?"

She snorted at him and gave him a bigger smile. "Ah, no," she said. "I'm not a twelve-year-old boy."

He shook his head at her. "Ah, no," he put right back at her. "That was your problem. You were trying to dress him like a twelve-year-old boy. Maybe more like a six-year-old boy."

She gave him an exasperated look. "He wasn't picking anything, Jay!"

He shrugged. "Yeah. Did you actually stop and look around the store you had him in? Would you pick anything to wear in public there? When you're twelve? That shit matters."

She snorted and shook her head. But she knew he had a point. Not that she'd gotten to be very picky about her clothes when she was twelve. Having clothes on her back was pretty much as good as it good. It being stylish? Well, that really hadn't happened. It was a bonus if it was even clean.

Really, though, she'd just picked the store because it was close to work and it was relatively cheap. Hank had just handed her a hundred bucks. She always felt weird taking money from him. Part of her didn't know where it was coming from. Part of her felt still like she was being paid for something. Or he was spotting her for something that she knew he wouldn't approve of. Or just that he didn't think she had her own cash.

Reality was, though, she kinda of preferred that Hank spend his money on Ethan's clothes than her money on his clothes. Thing was, though, that he'd clearly expected change. He actually likely anticipated that Ethan wouldn't pick much. Voight men and clothing didn't exactly belong in the same sentence. But after Jay had taken them into a store that was definitely much more clearly marketed specifically at boys Ethan's age – well, they'd spent a whole lot more than $100 and probably ended up with less than they would've got if Ethan had spent every last cent in the store she'd taken him in to.

But she hadn't sweat it. She paid for the rest. She handed Hank the bags and the receipts. He couple day her back if he wanted. If he didn't – not a big deal. Because Ethan actually picked things and he actually seemed happy with what he'd got. That hopefully meant he'd wear it. Of course, his picking had been almost entirely directed by Jay telling him what was cool. For whatever reason Ethan had decided he was going to believe him. But he likely would've believed Justin too. Maybe it was a big brother thing? He'd projected onto Jay in Justin's absence?

She didn't know. What she did know was that Ethan had ended up with four pairs of shorts – that were different styles, patterns and colors – and a pair of swim trunks. He'd even picked tshirts that didn't have sports team logos on them. Though, that'd also been directed by Jay – who'd pulled some different colors and textures and cuts and styles off the rack and showed them to the kid. Color. Jay had picked out color for the kid. Not grey or black or white. Actual colors. And, then when Erin had told him to pick a polo or button-down since his dad liked him to look clean cut and he'd likely have to go into some schools for meetings and assessments and interviews – he hadn't argued. He'd browsed and again taken Jay's basically silent advice, which pretty much consisted of him holding something up and saying "Here" and Ethan accepting that assessment. He'd even gone and tried the stuff one so they wouldn't have to make a return trip if he decided it didn't fit or he hated the way it looked. And even with all that they'd likely spent less time in the store than they had in the one before dinner.

Erin likely owed Jay. But that wasn't why she was there either.

"Should I be concerned you know how to dress twelve year olds?" she put back to him.

He cast her a bit of look. There was some annoyance behind it – he clearly hadn't liked the joke. But then his face softened a bit. "Have you seen the way 'dad' dresses?" he asked in that tone he used whenever he referred to her relationship with Voight.

That always rubbed her a bit of the wrong way too. She knew it was out of his own annoyance at not quite getting her relationship with Voight and perhaps a bit of a quite accusation that Hank played favorites, which she wasn't going to argue as false. But it also always felt like he was demeaning her relationship with Hank somehow whenever he said it. Like there wasn't a value in it. That it was somehow wrong.

She didn't like that. Hank was one of the most important people in her life. His family was her family. His family rounded out the list of people who mattered most to her. Them and the guys in the Intelligence Unit. And Nadia. She didn't like to feel like those relationships didn't have real value. Because they weren't blood? Because Jay didn't quite understand them? Maybe he never would. But she thought of all people – he should. Considering what his family had been through. Considering his frayed relationships with his dad and his brother. Considering that he'd been in the Rangers – that he had relationships with those men in his battalion. Considering he was now a cop and knew the camaraderie that grew in that too.

"I had to save him from that," he said a little more kindly.

She allowed him a thin smile. But she still didn't meet his eyes. Not right then. She always needed a small moment to regroup after he made one of his 'dad' comments – however harmless they might be meant to be.

"Thanks for helping," she allowed after giving herself a moment.

He gave a little nod. "No problem," he said. "And, I was serious that if he wants to go paintballing or something. Or you just need a hand."

She cast him a look. "Yeah, I'm sure that will go over real well. Maybe you should wait to see how Hank reacts when he finds out you spoke to his kid before you start planning any excursions."

Jay made a noise. "So I need to get his blessing for that too? Speaking to his son that it seems like everyone else in district is all chummy with?"

She gave him a frown and then shrugged. "I don't know, Jay. But I know you shouldn't try to play the big brother. He has one."

Jay snorted at that. "Justin?" he asked. "Yea, real good influence there."

She let out a slow breath. "He's got himself cleaned up. And he's a good brother to Ethan."

"Now that he's out of jail? And away with the service for four years?" Jay put to her.

"You served."

He took a long tug on his beer. "Slightly different circumstances," he said drily – not looking at her, his eyes set on the T.V.

She eyed him. She could see he was pissed now. Her reasons for being there – the window of opportunity – was likely fading. But then he looked at her.

"I'm not trying to be his brother. I was just … playing nice. With you," he said.

She gave him a sad smile. He did that a lot. He was probably more like Hank than he knew too. He tried to be a tough guy but he was a bit of a softie if you knew him. And, he always thought he had to take care of her – to the point it was annoying.

"So … what's up?" he finally asked after staring at her for a little too long. His eyes having some sort of silent conversation with her that she still felt that they both had enough secrets – that they hid themselves enough – that they couldn't ever could read in a comprehensible way. They knew each other. But only as much as the other allowed and they were both constantly putting up walls. There was a reason they worked undercover. Reasons they were good at it. "Because if you decided you wanted the rest of that burrito – hate to tell ya, but already chowed down."

"OK, disgusting," she said.

"No, delicious," he corrected, holding up a finger at her in warning.

"You already ate one," she countered. And watching him eat one had been disgusting enough. He looked like Ruzek. Famined.

"And yours would've been disgusting if I let it get soggy all night," he said.

"Which is why the leftovers should've gone in the garbage," she shook her head at him.

"And waste food? I don't think so."

She just shook her head. The thing was the size of a small baby. She didn't know how he'd managed to eat a whole one in a single sitting as it was – let alone for her to be at his place not more than three hours later and for him to have polished off the three-quarters of one she'd had left.

May her ill-advised plans for the evening were even more ill-advised.

"OK. So why are you really here?" he said again.

She shrugged. "I just wanted to talk."

He gave a little nod. "OK," he said like that was something that demanded a great deal of thought. "Cool. You want to go grab a beer?"

"You're already drinking one," Erin provided.

He glanced at his bottle and tilted it at her. There was maybe two gulps left in it. "I am," he agreed. "You want one? And to sit down?" He gestured at the couch.

"Not really," she said and eyed him.

He let the beer slowly drop from where he was bringing it back to his mouth and met her eyes. She could see he now knew what she was aiming at. That the chit-chat had just been chit-chat. It wasn't why she was there.

The thing was she really did want to talk. She wanted to vent at someone. To rant. To tell them what the hell was going on. To air out the dirty laundry and to try to sort it out. To let out some of the sadness she had for Ethan and even for Hank. And somewhere in there for herself too – though she didn't want it to be a pity party. IT wasn't about her. It was about a fucking twelve year old kid who just kept on having his world rocked – over and over and over again. And it just didn't seem fair. It didn't seem right. Even though she knew life wasn't fair and that the world rarely functioned the way you wanted it too. But that was fine for her. It was fine for other people. It wasn't fine for her baby brother.

And maybe if Nadia hadn't died she'd go home and say something to her. In confidence. To share it with her. Some of the struggles that the little boy was going through and what Hank was trying to sort out. And how much Erin just wanted to fix it for the both of them. And she would've known that Nadia wouldn't have just kept it quiet – she would've stepped up. Every time Hank had to have Ethan at the district, Nadia would've taken care of him. She would've treated him like a little brother of her own. She would've made him feel at home and she would've stayed late to finish off work she got behind on because she was sitting with him. Becoming his friend. Serving as his undefined babysitter and entertainer.

But she didn't have Nadia to talk to about it now. And, she could only talk to Hank about it so much. Hank had to deal with it. It had other emotions about it. It had to work through Ethan's emotions of it. He had to find fucking solutions. He had to make it work for the family. He didn't want to talk about her feelings. He didn't want to go over options and hear opinions. He wanted to get things sorted and get things stable and start moving on. For Ethan's sake.

It made sense. She understood where he was coming from. But she wanted to talk about it too. Yet she didn't at the same time. She wanted to not think about it for a little bit.

She bit her lip as she and Jay shared a steady gaze.

"That's not talking," he said quietly.

"I don't want to talk," she whispered back.

"I thought you said you wanted to talk," he said with a touch of confusion.

"I want to talk," she agreed. "I don't want to talk right now."

"OK," he agreed and barely a split second passed before his mouth crushed against hers. There was nothing gentle about the kiss. It was hungry and demanding. But she wanted that and parted her lips for him, opening her mouth, dueling with his tongue.

His hands seemed frantic over her body but hers were seeking out his skin with just as much frenzy. She managed to pull his shirt over his head just as he pushed her back into the beam at the entrance to his bedroom. Her back stung with the impact but it was a good sting, especially as his hangs pushed up the front of her shirt and his fingers trailed light across her skin until his hand demandingly massaged and weighed her right breast. His mouth never leaving hers. Until he pulled away just slightly and panted near her ear.

There wasn't going to be much foreplay. Her body had missed his – and she could feel that the feeling was mutual. He was already hard and pressing firmly against her. Round One was going to be short lived. Those burritos and beers better not weigh him down and keep him from being up to the task. She was going to want more than a quick fuck. Though she was happy to get one of those in too. That could be Round One. As long as he'd still be available for Round Two.

"Don't you have some rule about this?" he breathed heavily into her ear.

"You're the one that thought our personal lives should be more than our personal business," she panted back at him. Her hands were already working at his belt and fly while he pondered that.

"So popa bear is going to find out that I dressed one cub and undressed the other all in the same night?" he said and looked down as her hand moved to cup him through his tented briefs.

"I wasn't planning on telling him," she said and found his eyes. "Were you?"

He gazed at her under lids that were growing heavy with his arousal. "No," he finally managed to breath and his mouth crushed back against hers.

That was all the answer she needed and she wrapped her arms around him, crushing herself more against him. Because that was exactly what she needed in that moment.

 **An extra one based on requests. I have two more planned after this and then I guess I'll reassess how I feel about things and if I'm going to do more or not.**


	28. End of Discussion

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Ethan was staying with his arms crossed defiantly across his chest when Hank got to the living room. He looked at him a moment. Sometimes he found some of the shit his kids tried to pull with him to be so fucking ridiculous. Like they thought being pissy, spoiled brats – crossing their arms, giving him glares and snark, talkback or the silent treatment – did anything for them. Like he didn't deal with worse shit from far more intimidating and threatening people than anything Ethan, Erin and Justin could manage even if they banned together. Occasionally it made him want to pull out a real smackdown for them. But he usually just reminded himself that it was just kids acting like kids. They were treating him like all kids eventually treated their parents – being little snots about their supposed injustices that he was inflicting on them.

He pointed at the armchair. "You going to sit down?" he put to Ethan but his son just crossed his arms tighter.

Hank offered no comment to that and went and sat on the couch, crossing his legs and settling into the corner of it. He shared the icy glare Ethan was giving him for several beats, running his tongue across the front of his teeth as he waited. Giving Ethan the chance to make a move – to let out some of his anger. But he didn't.

Hank let out a slow breath while he examined his son. "You know, you were unplanned," he finally told him. Ethan's glare thickened. "We've never really talked about that before. Didn't need to. You likely figured it out on your own."

"You mean a mistake," Ethan said flatly. There was an edge of anger to his voice.

But Hank just gave him a small thoughtful frown and shook his head. "No. Unplanned," he restated. "Your mom and I just weren't trying to get pregnant. But we were probably being a little careless about some things given our age and stage."

Ethan looked away. "Gross," he muttered.

Hank shrugged. "Sure. When you haven't popped your cherry the concept of having sex in your forties is likely—"

"You don't know that!" Ethan spat at him.

Hank gave him a look and patted his hand on the edge of armrest. "What? That you're a virgin? Magoo, your sister just handed me a receipt for some $30 tshirt for you to wear in a fucking swimming pool because no one is allowed to look at you. You going to try to bullshit me into believing you can't swim or be in public without a hat on – but you're good dropping your drawers for some girl?"

Ethan just looked away from him.

"Ethan, you're twelve," Hank said. "Wait a few years until your short and curlys come in and then we can trade this B.S." He sighed and shook his head. "What I was saying was that doctors don't much encourage you to have kids in your forties. We had all these idiots doing this fucking fear mongering. That you might be autistic or Downs Syndrome. Or Asperger's or ADHD or diabetes. It was just this never-ending list of afflictions that we should 'be prepared for'. And I was like, 'Jesus Fuck, what am I going to do with this kid?' Diabetes, ADHD. OK. Fine. We'd figure it out. But autistic or Downs Syndrome? Spinal bifida? I didn't know how the fuck we would handle that. What'd that mean for our family. Your mom, though, the whole pregnancy she just kept reciting – telling me – that you were going to be fine. You were going to be this healthy, beautiful, perfect little boy."

He looked at his son – and gestured at the armchair again. "Sit down," he said a little less firmly.

Ethan let took a deep breath – his chest visibly expanding and then a cough rattling out of him and his hand flying up to support his mending ribs as it did. His face fell a bit more with the pain of it and he carefully moved to the chair and sat – but only on the edge – and he examined the ground, almost like he was looking at the floor under the coffee table.

Hank watched him for another moment and then continued. "It was a really fucking easy pregnancy despite all the bullshit from the doctors. All these extra appointments since we were apparently geriatrics. But it was fine. Your mom had the worst morning sickness and migraines with Justin. The swelling in her ankles. Fuck. They looked like watermelons. But with you? It was fucking smooth sailing. Too good to be true. So then I guess it wasn't."

His son looked up at him, his brow creasing. Hank looked at him seriously.

"Your mom had a bit of a medical emergency. Things weren't right. So we got her to the hospital and they had to cut you out. About three weeks early."

"Mom said I was a C-section," Ethan said quietly.

Hank nodded. "You were," he agreed. "But there was a bit more to it then that. So I'm in there losing my mind about your mom and you. And I've got two teenaged kids in the waiting room losing their minds – so I'm trying to manage that too. We're all a fucking mess. Except your mom. Again she is with this mantra that you're going to be fine. That you're just being a little bugger. Wanting to get out early and meet us all."

Ethan made a small noise and went back to looking at the floor. Hank allowed him a thin, barely visible smile. The comments were so Camille. Ethan might've only been seven when he lost his mom but he knew it too.

"And they pulled you out—"

"Were you there?" Ethan asked quietly.

"Fuck, yes," Hank said firmly. "You think I'm some hands-off asshole stuck in the 1950s?"

Ethan gave him a small questioning glance.

"I was there for you," he said firmly. "I was there for Justin. I'm the one who drove your sister home too. The day each one of you joined this family – I was there. Now I don't have some long melodramatic list of 'best days' of my life. But the day each of you kids arrived in this family – they were pretty good days for me."

Ethan gave him a squint. Hank could tell he was processing that.

"They change you," Hank told him. "You're not going to understand that now. And that's OK. Your brother is just starting to get it. He's going to really get it a few months from now. Believe me. But getting to see your kids – to hold them – for the first time. There's something to that."

Ethan gave him a look. Hank moved his eyes, though, as he thought about it for a moment, smacking his lips slightly and looking at the floor too.

"I didn't get to hold you, though," he said finally. "That was hard for me. Bothered me a lot. Fought with the doctors a bit about it. All this, 'I'll be damned if I'm not going to get to hold my son' verbiage." He shook his head as he remembered. He'd made a scene. Likely embarrassed Camille even though they had her all doped up for the surgery. "Got to touch you, though. We had you on your mom's chest for a bit but they grabbed you pretty quick." He made a shape with his hands measuring out a rectangle. "Had you in this box. To keep you warm. All these fucking tubes and monitors attached to you. You were so small. "

Ethan looked at him. "You and Mom never said that before? Or J or Erin."

Hank shrugged. "You were only in there about 10 days. You just needed some time for your lungs. To get you to suckle. Eat. You still don't fucking eat right," he said more pointedly.

Ethan looked back down embarrassedly at that. "I'm still small too."

Hank allowed another little shrug. "That could be lots of things. Genetics aren't in your favor there, Magoo. You got me and your grandpa in you."

Ethan glanced up slightly again.

"We got to hold you more after they got you set up in there. But I usually deferred to your mom with them working on the whole bonding and getting you to suckle thing. It was like, 'Ethan, just fucking eat so we can take you home.' Stubborn. Or a slow learner," Hank said with a shake of his head. Maybe some things didn't change there either. "It was hard, though. Not getting to hold you. And being in the hospital. I remember thinking, 'My kid isn't going to be in here again. Not like this. Not with all these fucking tubes and monitors and beeping and asshole doctors feeding us bullshit.' But I guess I didn't do a very good job at keeping you out of there."

He watched as Ethan's head slowly bobbed up to him and gazed his way.

"Ethan, I have never thought you were retarded. I don't fucking like that word. Even before you were born we had the doctors telling us to expect that. But you weren't. You never were. And you aren't now. You're as stubborn as fuck. But you know what? Your mother laid that one all on me too. What the fuck am I going to expect? Whether either of us like it or not – you've got me there in your genetic mix. You're going to be stubborn. I've got three fucking headstrong kids. But you – Magoo – you take it to another level. It's kept you alive. Back as a newborn. Back with the accident. And, it's going to get you through now."

"Because something is wrong with me now?" Ethan asked quietly.

Hank let out a slow sigh. "Things aren't quite right. You know that."

"The doctor said something's wrong?"

"Dr. Pelican wants us to go back to the Trauma Center."

"I don't like it there!" Ethan protested, sitting up straight in the chair and casting him an urgent look.

"You aren't supposed to like it there," Hank said.

"I don't want to go back there," Ethan pressed more pointedly.

Hank flared his nostrils. "I know," he allowed. He didn't fucking want to go back there either. "But it's just … so they can rerun some tests. Do some more imaging."

"WHY?!" Ethan demanded.

"Because you suffered a traumatic brain injury, Ethan," Hank said firmly.

"They said I was OK! You said I was OK! It was a long time ago!"

Hank shook his head and let out a breath. "Magoo, come sit here," he said and put his hand next to him on the couch cushion.

"No," Ethan said firmly.

Hank looked at him for a long beat. Part of him hoped that his eyes would communicate to his boy how much he needed him to come and sit next to him – so they could have this conversation face-to-fact. So he could keep up the eye contact. So he could touch his fucking kid – give him some sort of support and affection in this. But Ethan stayed planted where he was.

He sighed. "E, I'm not a medical expert. I like doctors about as much as you. Probably less. But I need to hear out what they've got to say when they are telling me something about my kid. And, Dr. Pelican says we should go back and see Dr. Kendall and get some imaging done. Let them do some of those tests they put you through again."

"But I didn't hit my head again!" Ethan pressed back at him. It was starting to sound like a whine. There was an underlying teariness to it.

"OK, according to the doctor that doesn't really matter," Hank tried to tell him calmly. He tried to figure out how to explain this when he was trying to find a way for himself to understand and accept it already. He sat forward on the couch, uncrossing his legs and resting his elbows on his knees, searching for his son's eyes. "You were just a little kid when it happened, Ethan. And our brains – they grow and develop until you're about your brother's age. OK? But you're at an age where things are growing and trying to work a little differently – just like the rest of your body. But some of the things happening right now with you, it could be your brain telling us that it's having trouble keeping up. OK? And it's likely having trouble keeping up because of what happened. Not because something new happened. Not because you did something wrong. Or because your sick. Just because you got hurt, Ethan. And the doctors couldn't see all that hurt then. We might just be starting to see some of the hurt now. Now that you're growing up a bit."

"NO!" Ethan very nearly yelled at him. His face was red. Hank couldn't decide if it was from anger or if he was fighting so hard to hold in tears. Angry, frustrated, devastated tears.

"It may be no," Hank agreed. "Dr. Pelican may be wrong. But the only way we're going to find that out is if we go see Dr. Kendall at the Trauma Center and do some of these tests."

"NO!" Ethan yelled at him again.

Hank sighed and sat back in the couch again, gazing at his trembling son. "E, it's not a yes or no kind of thing. It's what we're doing."

"No," Ethan said a little more meekly. And he rattled as it did some out, a tear escaping.

"Come here," Hank said again flatly. That time holding out his arms in a small offering of a hug.

Ethan sat there looking at him and trembling for several seconds. But then he rose and almost scurried over before nearly crumpling against him.

"I'm fine, Dad," he sobbed.

Hank just rubbed his back and let him cry it out. He didn't argue with him. He didn't embarrass him by acknowledging the tears. Just let him let some of it out. He was still a fucking little kid. And the fucking rug was just getting pulled out from under him again. And again and again.

It went on for some time but Ethan finally shifted in his awkward positioning. It was likely more awkward for the kid than him. Ethan was still sort of standing though most of his weight had pushed Hank back into the couch while the boy's legs sprawled out on the floor and his face buried into his shoulder. The movement saw him settle himself on the cushion next to him and look at him.

"I'm fine, Dad," he offered again with a lot less vigor. He'd exhausted himself with the rattled sobs.

Hank lifted his hand and swiped a still stray tear from his face. Ethan turned his cheek with some embarrassment but Hank ignored it. Reaching then with the opposite hand and using both his thumbs to gently smooth the streaked partner of tears into the kid's skin. Ethan just sniffled at him and lifted his own hand to swipe away the snot collecting under his nose and upper lip. Ethan already had the shoulder of Hank's shirt so soaked with tears and snot that he briefly contemplated lifting his own sleeve to clean off the kid's nose too. But instead it rose and went to his little office space, retrieving a Kleenex box and pulling out two tissues that he handed to his son who pawed absently at his nose, giving him a hurt puppy dog look. It actually looked more like the dog had been run over.

Hank sat back down next to him. "You aren't fine," he said with a quiet firmness. "Something is going on and we need to get it sorted out."

"I'll do better," Ethan whined at him.

Hank gave him a frown and shook his head, patting at his boy's knee a couple times. "E, while your sister had you out, I did a little bit of reading about this stuff in kids your age," he said, "just to make sure Pelican isn't talking out of his ass. And, some of the shit I read scared me. I don't scare easily. And this stuff? About my kid?" He shook his head. "Violent, aggressive behavior. Substance abuse. Self-harm. Suicide. No."

"Dad," Ethan teared up again. "It's just schoolwork. I'lll try harder!"

Hank put his hand on the back of his boy's head, cupping it and then squeezing at his neck. "Magoo, it's not just the schoolwork. You're starting to experiment with drugs."

"It was just pot, Dad!" he cried. "I only did it three times. I swear! I won't do it again."

"You're fighting," Hank said to him again.

"You fight! Justin fought!" His tears were streaming again.

"Ethan, it's different with you," Hank told him firmly. "I need to be more conscious of it. OK? I admit when I'm wrong. You know that," he said and looked directly into his eyes. "I needed to send you to broading school. It was where you needed to be while things settled down and got sorted out. But, I should've brought you home after they did. I was wrong to leave you there. I should've had you here where I could keep an eye on how you were doing and how your schoolwork was going and have you into the doctors and Pelican. I messed up. And, now we need to play catch up."

"I didn't do anything!" Ethan whined loudly. "Nothing that Justin and Erin didn't do. Nothing that other kids don't do too!"

"We need to make sure – that you're just being a kid. That there isn't something else going on."

"There's nothing going on!" he pressed.

"There could be," Hank put back to him sternly but then softened. "Your brain was really hurt, Ethan. I know we don't talk about that much. We talk about your scars. But the hurt people can't see, Magoo. What we can't see. That's what we need to worry about. It's what we've got to talk about. And we need to go in and get it checked out."

"I'm fine, Dad!" Ethan tried again.

"Ethan, you aren't," Hank said raising his voice just slightly and squeezing the back of his neck just a bit more firmly. He sighed as he did it and released the grip, stroking at the hair on the back of his neck a couple times before sitting back from his son slightly and taking a slow breath to reframe himself.

"I don't want you to end up doing something stupid and landing yourself in jail," Hank said. "I don't want to see you hurting another person. And, Ethan, I do not want to see you doing something that gets you hurt. Or you hurting yourself. I lost your mom. I thought I lost you…"

Hank had to look away from him a moment. He felt his own eyes fighting back watering and he looked at the floor. He didn't cry. But there were times that things stung. Remembering that night. What he saw on that road. Their vehicle. It hurt.

"I'm not doing that again," he said more quietly after giving himself time to recompose.

His biggest unspoken fear was that at some point he would have to do it again. That some other asshole would hurt his family. That Erin would end up shot or hurt or killed on the job. That Justin would do the same – off in some fucking foreign country. Get himself blown up or worse. And he'd be doing it all again. But if he had to do it again with his baby boy? His only kid who was still a kid? He didn't know he had it in him to do it again. Not with any of his kids. But especially with Ethan. Especially if he didn't get Ethan to adulthood. It'd kill him.

Hank finally managed to look back to his son. He'd quieted but was staring at him with broken questioning. He likely sensed that he'd been near tears. That didn't happen often. It happened even less often in front of his children. It was likely even more jarring for the boy.

"I was there then too," Hank told him. "I know you don't remember that either. But I was on the scene. I was there with you on that road, Magoo. And, I was in the ambulance with you. And, I was with you in the hospital. I didn't let you out of my sight. With all the tubes and all the monitors and all the fucking beeping and the surgeries and you so fucking small in the bed for weeks and weeks. All these doctors preparing me for the fucking worst. And, here you are. Still fucking here, Ethan. It's where you're staying. We're going to the fucking doctors'. End of discussion."


	29. Scared

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

"Voight on diaper duty," Jay said, still running light fingertips over her bicep in a way that was causing her still sensitive skin to prickle and react. "That's an image I almost can't imagine."

She gave him a smile. "Diaper duty. Spit up on. Pissed on," she allowed.

Jay flopped on his back and tucked a hand behind his head. "I really can't see that," he said and cast her a look.

"He's a good dad," she said firmly. "Is that so hard to believe?"

He gave a small shrug. She wasn't sure if it was that he didn't agree or he really didn't have an opinion on the matter. He didn't have enough experience or information to really justifiably have an opinion. Though, she was pretty sure he had an opinion. Jay always had opinions and didn't do any overly good job at hiding them – even if he kept them to himself … temporarily.

"Just seems like he would've been a hard ass," Jay said flatly.

"I didn't say he wasn't a hard ass," Erin contended. "He's tough. But he's a good dad. Involved."

Jay made a sound that sounded somewhat amused. She gave him a small glare.

"What?"

"Involved? He had one kid who went to jail despite him being 'involved' – or maybe because of?" Erin really did glare at him at that but didn't bite. "And another one that no one at District knew existed," he added.

"If by no one – you mean you, then you have that statement almost fifty percent correct. Debatably," she mouthed off.

His head rotated to look at her again, holding up his one hand above his hand and starting to count off on his fingers. "Ruzek, Bur-."

"Ruzek knew he existed. He just … didn't care enough to register. I don't know why you care so much anyways."

He gazed at her for a moment. "You cared when you met my brother," he said.

She sighed at him. "That's different, Jay."

He eyed her. "It's not that Voight didn't mention it. It's that you didn't," he said flatly.

She let out a slow breath and shrugged a little. "Hank and I just have a bit of an agreement about what we say and don't say about family at work."

"Ah …," Jay said. "Voight and his rules."

"He has good rules," Erin put flatly.

He snorted at her and gave her that smile. "That your story today?"

She gave him a small slap in the chest.

"Oh, I've definitely seen some rules you don't like," he said, still grinning at her. "Ones you've broken. Pretty sure you're breaking a big one right now."

She returned the smile and scooted across the bed to close the small gap. She briefly caressed his stubbly face, looking into those eyes of his. Then she draped her still naked body back across his – resting her head against his chest. He let his one arm wrap around her and started again with drawing the aimless patterns with his fingertips across her back.

Sometimes she wished things didn't have to be so fucking complicated with Jay – because when she was just with Jay, it didn't feel complicated. It felt really fucking good. All of it. Even the hard bits. Even when he said or did things that upset her – it still felt better than any other relationship she'd known.

It's just that they weren't really in a relationship.

The thing was it didn't really feel like it was just sex either. Not that they weren't good at the sex bit. They were really good at the sex bit. Jay was really good at it. Maybe too good. Maybe he went looking for comfort and distraction in just as many wrong places as her? But she wasn't going to start some tally. She couldn't judge. But she wasn't loath to admit that he was fun to get into bed with. She was pretty certain the feeling was mutual. She definitely knew how to push some of his buttons and get him going too. And he liked it. That was damn clear.

But as fantastic as the sex was – and it was pretty fantastic – it still wasn't just about that. Jay could get that elsewhere – easily. So could she. And, she had been. She'd been making some pretty shitty choices in that regard lately too. There'd been a lot of shitty choices and excesses since Nadia. She knew it. It was just that she was trying to feel something else. To think about something else. To find someway to forgive herself.

Somehow she thought that Hank might be more forgiving of her finding some companionship and comfort in Jay than the bottle, pharmaceuticals and assholes she'd been fucking. If he knew about the kind of dabbling she was doing, he was more likely to tell her that she was sliding back into old habits. That she needed to clean herself up. That she was risking her career. That he'd have to kick her out of the unit. That she'd again be even more indebted to him as he pulled strings to cover up her infractions and distractions.

It seemed like spending time with Jay was a much more forgivable offence. At least it should be.

Hank wouldn't likely see it that way.

She sort of hoped that Ethan was going to be a reason to clean up her act too. He'd be a good distraction. Something else to focus on and think about. And, really, if she didn't get things right for him – and Hank – she likely wouldn't forgive herself either.

But she could already tell her needed more than that. Actually, it might be more that she needed someone to talk to and lean on during it. It was going to be an adjustment. There were going to be hard moments. It was going to take some navigation and be some stress. Hank wouldn't coddle her during it. He'd be too busy coddling Ethan – as much as he ever coddled anyone. But she was going to need someone during all of it too. She wasn't Hank. She couldn't just blaze through alone. She'd done that. She'd tried. It usually lead her to bad places.

She thought Jay could help. He was her partner. He was supposed to take on that role. They were supposed to be each other's shoulders to lean on. Ear to pull. They'd both stated before that even though they weren't pursuing a relationship that it didn't mean they didn't care about each other. It didn't mean that they weren't friends. That they weren't interested. It just meant that they didn't want to lose their job. They wanted their careers. It made sense.

But it didn't.

Because this felt like more than a partnership. It felt like more than sex. It felt like something. Something she hadn't much felt before.

Maybe it was that he was too good to her. Too nice to her. She wasn't really used to that in men.

It was kind of funny that Hank was the one who'd given her some exposure to how a man was supposed to treat a woman – his love, his spouse. That he and Camille had become Erin's measurement of what a loving, real, sustained relationship looked like. That Hank had stressed to her that she had value. That she deserved more. That she could protect herself. That she should respect herself – and her body and her feelings and her head and her heart. They weren't just available to any asshole who thought he wanted them or deserved them. That she shouldn't just hand them out because she had an itch she needed scratching or a pat on the back that she needed. But here Jay was – who treated her kindly, who valued her it seemed, who cared, who was just as fucking overprotective as Hank – and there Dad was saying 'no'. It was fucking mixed messages and it pissed her off. Even though she could understand in a way where Hank was coming from.

He was trying to protect her. He was trying to Halstead. He was trying to protect his unit. And, he was protecting himself.

But she didn't much like it. She didn't know she wanted to listen to his 'rule'. Not right now. She needed something – someone. There was just too much one her plate – cluttering her mind right now. Hank would likely tell her that this would clutter and distract her more.

But could something that felt so good? So right? Really do that?

Hank would tell her she was thinking about what was between her legs rather than with her head. To do up her pants. He wouldn't tolerate it.

But she didn't really want to think about that argument – that she'd likely ultimately lose no matter the outcome – just yet.

"Must've been kinda weird for you," Jay said finally, breaking the silence that had hung between them allowing her quiet contemplation. "To get taken in there. Hard enough. And then them having another kid?"

She rubbed her cheek against his chest for a moment.

"Yeah, I worried about at the time," she said quietly. "That I was getting displaced again when it was the first time I felt settled. But Hank has this thing about it being an open house. So they were super open about it right from really early in the pregnancy. Lots of family talks and as weird as I thought it was going to be. It just never felt weird after he got there. They made it really normal. I don't know. In some ways, I think, it made it feel more normal. Just … you know … when he was born and the first time I saw him, it was 'meet your baby brother', 'here's your big sister'. It made it real. Almost like, 'Yeah, I really am part of this family.'"

Jay stroked her hair a bit at that. "He's twelve, right? So you would've been …"

"Sixteen," she filled in his mental math for him. "I'd just turned seventeen by the time he was born. Late April. He's early June. He was a month early."

"Hmm …," Jack acknowledged. "Premie. That why he's such a squirt?"

She flicked his nipple a bit where she'd been rubbing it. It was standing on end – erect from the touch and likely still sensitive from before. The play of it under her fingers was enough that she was contemplating moving her mouth to it and then the rest of his chest and body and mouth – and who knows where that would lead after that. But she thought the break they were taking was something they both needed. Besides she had told him – herself – that she'd gone over because she needed to talk.

He made a slight sound of surprise at the flick and cast her a look. She gave him a firm stare.

"Don't say that in front of him," she said. "He's super sensitive about being the small kid. He gets picked on enough."

He grabbed at her hand and pulled it away from its play, lacing his fingers with her and pressing a kiss into her hair.

"OK, relax," he instructed.

"It was actually really scary," she muttered after a moment. "Camille had a placental abruption. We were just sitting around the house and then all of a sudden she's gushing blood. There's only been two times where I've really seen Hank look like he was actually going to lose it. That was one."

"What was the other?" he asked.

Erin stared through the dim light of the room at the mirror above his dresser. She could make out their forms tangled in the sheet. Something about their silhouettes made her feel even more in the right about her rule infraction.

"You know what the other is," she put back to him flatly.

She could feel him gazing down his chest at her but she just kept staring at their faraway reflections in the mirror on the opposite side of the room. She couldn't make out his face in it. It was too dark. But she didn't need to see it to know the face he was making. It was one she'd seen many times before.

"What happened?" he asked instead.

She gave a small shrug against him. "Jay, I'm sure you've asked other people already."

"Yea," he admitted. "But I'm asking for your version of the story now."

"My version of the story is that the woman who took me in died. That Hank lost his spouse. That Justin and Ethan lost their mom."

She must've said it with enough firmness – enough tone – that he knew not to press it farther. To redirect. She would've likely grown angry with him if he did. She might've gotten up, gotten dressed and left.

Because what was her version of the story? She didn't know. She wasn't there. She'd heard other people's version of the story. She'd heard the speculation. She had her own speculations about the 'real' story. About the outcome of the story.

But really the only part of the story that she knew – her version – was about the aftermath of 'the story'. What she knew was the hours and days and weeks and months in the hospital after. The funeral. The house. The fallout with Justin. The mangled little boy that had to be pieced back together. And, her observations on how Hank had interacted with all of it. That was her version of the story. That was the part, the role, the character she'd played in 'the story'. She tried not to think about the rest. She didn't really want to think about the rest. And, in so many ways, she was glad she hadn't seen the scene.

She had heard it on the radio too. She could've gone. But her partner at the time hadn't let her. As much as she wanted to rush over – they'd held her back. And, really, that proved message enough that it was bad. Really, really bad. Bad enough that no one thought she should see it. They'd taken her to the hospital instead. And that had been more than bad enough. She'd seen what was left of Ethan when they'd come through those doors. She'd seen the look on Hank's face as they charged by – and it wasn't the man she knew that was there then. It'd taken quite a while after 'the accident' for her to start to see the man she knew again. He'd slowly started to appear again but never the same version of him. But how could it ever been quite the same person after that?

After they'd gotten out of her sight, she'd heaved. She'd vomited all over the floor of the hospital emergency room. Heaving and heaving until her stomach couldn't bring up anymore than burning bile and her whole body cramped in agony at what she'd seen flying by. Ethan had been a bloody mess. Even under the sheets as they pushed him by it was clear bones were jutting from his body. But he was near missing half his face. His skull looked so dented – the visible missing chunks – she wouldn't have believed he was still alive if it wasn't the speed at which they'd flown by her and the way doctors had descended on his little body as soon as the ambulance arrived. This mess of voices and shouts and chaos.

That was the only story she had about that night. Thinking about it was enough. The hours and days after – anything that had happened outside of the hospital walls – it wasn't her business. She'd been there. For Hank. For Justin. For Ethan. Helping with funeral arrangements. Making runs for food or coffee or clean clothes or toothbrushes. Trying to get them to sleep while she took her turn holding vigil. Dealing with phone calls and glad-handing and offering of support that Hank didn't want to deal with. She'd in essence become the family spokesperson. Or the flak. Keeping everyone away from Justin and Hank – unless they specifically asked for them.

She knew what Jay was asking. What stories he wanted. What side he wanted to know. But that wasn't her story – and it certainly wasn't her side.

"It changed him," she managed to provide, though.

"Ethan?" Jay asked. "Yea, head injuries do that. I know some guys who took them in Afghanistan who were never the same. Even Mouse …"

"Hank," Erin countered. Though, there was no debating that it'd changed Ethan too. But that was just stating the obvious. "Didn't your mom dying change your dad too?"

Jay's hand stilled in its gentle movements and fell away from her. "Yea, I guess," he allowed.

The answer was clear – he wasn't going to talk about his dad. Or his mom. Or his relationship with his family. It was an off-limits area. A way to get him to shutdown. As much flak as he gave her about being closed off about her relationship with Voight. About what her family life was like. He was just as private about his. And, she really doubted he had as much to hide or be ashamed of in his past as she did. Not at all.

"So what was she like?" Jay asked, clearly changing topics. "Voight's wife?"

Erin gave a small shrug and gripped a bit at his shoulder, almost hoping that the small bit of added touch might encourage him to return his hand to her too. To keep up the closeness.

"She was a nice lady," she provided.

Jay's hand did return to her back. Actually it was more on her tailbone and the fingertip tracing began again – maybe a little too close to her ass and delicate, sensitive skin. It felt nice. Maybe too nice to keep up a conversation very much longer. But maybe that was part of his topic shift tactic.

"I find it almost as hard to picture the woman who'd put up with Voight as I do him handling a baby," Jay said.

Erin allowed and small laugh at that and briefly lifted her head to give him a smile. "They were high school sweethearts," she said.

Jay gave her an even more surprised look. "Really?"

She shrugged. "I actually think it makes a lot of sense. Because, really, who'd put up with Voight besides someone who knew him before he was Voight?"

Jay gave a little nod and examined the ceiling. "That makes sense," he allowed.

"I guess they were pretty on-again, off-again while she was in college. He wanted her to get her degree before they got hitched."

"What'd she do?" Jay asked.

"Marine biologist," Erin said flatly.

Jay's head lifted again and he gazed down at her with an even more surprised face. "Really?" he demanded again.

She shrugged. "Yeah."

"So? What? She work at the aquarium?" he put to her with a clear touch of teasing to it.

"No," Erin said a little defensively and gave him a look. "She studied fish. Migration patterns in the Great Lakes … or something."

Jay gave her an amused look. She just rolled her eyes at him.

"You know who would've loved your get a cabin in Wisconsin and go fishing idea? Camille," she put back to him. "Probably Voight too. Fishing is not my idea of a good time. That family – cabins, fishing, bugs. That's a holiday. No thank you. I got dragged on those 'vacations' enough for a lifetime in my teens."

"Wait? Voight has a cabin?"

"No," she allowed. "But they knew someone. There was one we got dragged to every year."

"Dragged to," Jay said drily and she could feel him rolling his eyes at her even though she wasn't look at him. "Sounds awful."

"Hey, for a kid who grew up on the streets of Chicago getting dragged to the middle of no where to sit in a boat being eaten by mosquitoes – it was pretty awful," she said.

"Sounds terrible," he agreed mockingly but paused for a moment. "Actually, being in a boat in the middle of a lake with Voight does sound a little scary."

She gave him a little slap on the chest again for that crack. But he just looked down and smiled at her.

"He threaten to threw you kids overboard if you started acting up and scaring away the fishes?" he teased.

Erin just rolled her eyes. "You don't act up with, Hank," she said flatly. "Not like that." She let out a little sigh and set her chin on his chest and gazed at Jay. "He's really struggling with this Ethan stuff, Jay. I guess I am too."

He looked at her, his face becoming a bit more concerned. "Why? What's going on?"

She shrugged and settled back onto his chest again. She didn't think she wanted to look at him while she talked about this. Somehow it felt like a betrayal of her family.

"He got in trouble at school. Expelled," she said.

"Fighting," Jay said, stating the obvious.

"Yeah," Erin allowed. "But other things have come up since he's been home. More of the story. Or at least Ethan's side. And there's just …" she let out a louder sigh and sunk more against him. "There's some weird things going on with him. With Ethan. He's just off. Something isn't quite right. And the doctors want to re-run some tests on him. They think it could be related to his brain injury. I don't know."

"Makes sense," Jay allowed, though his hand had come around her a bit more protectively.

"Only Hank went Dr. Googling it after their appointment and he's got himself … worked up," she said. That was the best way she could describe it. "And, let's just say … there's some pretty clear indications that he's likely going to need some special accommodations to get through the rest of school at this point. It just … some of this doesn't really fall within Hank's approach to parenting."

"Which is?"

She gave him a look. It felt like it was being flippant but she could see from his face that he wasn't. He was trying to be supportive. He was trying to understand to give her some sort of feedback.

She gave him a sad smile. "Tough love," she said flatly. "But Ethan's so stubborn and so … soft too. He's a mama's boy and he doesn't have her anymore."

"He's got you," Jay offered.

She just frowned at him and shook her head. "I'm not his mom. It's not the same." She let out a long sigh. "My heart is breaking for both of them. They're both just … struggling and hurting right now. And Hank … he doesn't do emotions. Not those kind."

"Maybe he'll surprise you," Jay said and she again gave him a skeptical look. "Does sound like he's full of surprises."

"Yeah," Erin provided sarcastically, "he's a real enigma wrapped in a riddle."

"Inside a mystery," he finished for her.

She looked at him. "I just don't want either of them to self-destruct."

"You won't let them," he said. "You're as protective of him as he is of you. Sorta annoying."

She gave him a bit bigger smile. "I can be sorta protective about people I care about," she said.

"That so?" he teased.

"Hmm," she allowed and settled back on to him, draping her one leg across him now too. "Look – I'm protecting you."

"Hmm," he provided. "Well, yeah. I think I should definitely be good if we suddenly had an earthquake and the building collapsed. But I actually think you doing that is more likely setting me up to go down in flames as soon as Voight figures it out. And I have a feeling he'll catch on a whole lot quicker this time than last. And he was pretty quick last time."

She gave him a smile. "You scared?"

"Umm, yeah," he said. "You just told me 'dad' is currently rather emotionally unstable and we're breaking one of his clearly established rules. Pretty sure it's only a matter of time before hell rains down on us."

"Halt or catch fire, Jay," she said. "Which is it?"

 ***** THE REMAINDER OF THE CHAPTER IS M RATED *****

She moved her mouth and gave a small suck on his collarbone before tracing her tongue and light kisses up his neck and again sucking just below his ear. He made a small sound of pleasure and the fingers tracing around her tailbone suddenly became hands gripping at her ass.

"Ah, yeah, I'll take my chances with fire," he said and tilted his head to find her mouth.

Her hand was already reaching down to find him. She didn't have to do much searching, and she moved to straddle him.

"Good," she allowed. "Because I think there's an Earthquake coming."

A smile spread across his face. "You saying you going to rock my world there Lindsay?"

She bent forward and captured his mouth with hers, and guided him into her. He made another small sound of pleasure, breaking the kiss and moving his hand to tightly grip at her hips.

"Maybe," she whispered into his ear, sitting a bit straighter and beginning to rock against him.

"Have at'er," he muttered.

She watched his face. His eyes had shifted to look at their union. Their joined movements. His hands moving from holding her to trailing up her stomach and grabbing at her breasts to return and then grip at her hips again, his one hand stretching and his thumb flicking in just the right spot to the point her arched her back and let out her own pleasurable sound. Until she regrouped and leaned forward, riding him a bit more rigorously as she found his eyes.

He gazed back at her. There was an intensity to it. A look of need but this underlying caring to the pleasure he was experiencing too. It was a look that she'd really only seen with Jay and no other man. He made another sound and let his head fall back into the pillow for another moment. She could already see the flushing spreading across his chest and up his neck. She leaned forward farther and teased his exposed neck.

He only allowed her a few moments of teasing though. Without even fully feeling his shift – he'd rapidly griped her and flipped them – giving himself the upper hand, as he hovered over her, still completely inside of her. She let out a small gasp in surprise at the sudden change of position and the new feeling of his presence in her with the new angle.

His mouth snagged hers for a deep kiss, ending her gaping at him as he continued their rocking urgency, pressing firmly against her over and over again.

"I'd rather rock yours," he said a little breathlessly into her ear as they finally broke the kiss.

She was OK with that too. Right then. Though, she knew they were both going to be fucked in a completely different way as soon as Hank found out.

But she pushed that to the back of her head. She'd much rather focus about what … who … was between her legs – and inside her – and the feelings prickling through her entire body than anything that was occupying her head in those moments. She could deal with that … with Hank, with Ethan, with Nadia, with Bunny, with Teddy, with what any of it meant another time. Right now all that mattered was this. And it felt good. It felt amazing.

And could that really be that wrong?


	30. The List

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Voight looked up from reading his paperback and gazed across the diner table at Ethan. The kid's brow was fully creased in concentration – nearly like he was taking his finals. A pencil clutched tightly and awkwardly in one hand while he slowly scrawled on a piece of paper. In his other hand he held a spoon, heaped with fucking frosted flakes. The milk was slowly dripping off the spoon and back into the bowl he was hovering the spoon above. In the bowl the rest of the cereal was growing soggy as he continued to work on his assignment.

Hank had told him to write down a list of things he wanted to earn back and some things he'd like to do over the summer. It was a bullshit task. Hank already knew in his head what things the kid would be slowly earning back over time. He had a pretty good idea of what things he would and wouldn't be doing with the kid. It sure as hell wasn't going to be anything extravagant. They weren't extravagant people. And, it was pretty sure they were going to have enough going on to keep them all busy without trying to fit in any fantasies Ethan had about what made an ideal summer. But the kid had been looking so fucking depressed that Hank had had to give him something to do to try to distract him. Give him some sort of hope. Or just let him look at the top of his head for a bit rather than his son's sullen face.

It'd been a fucking rough night. It'd taken him forever to get Ethan to calm the fuck down. The kid was acting pretty fucking broken by the time Hank had declared the conversation over. He'd clearly pushed the kid into one of his twitchy anxiety attacks.

He'd reluctantly resorted to going and pulling out some of the one-off anxiety medication to try to get Ethan to calm the fuck down. He'd drawn the line at giving him a sedative, though. He didn't like having too much in his kid's system at once. And, he really didn't want him to get dependent on any of it – though he was starting to accept that some of this crap, his son was going to be on some variation of for life. Hank didn't fucking like it – but if it meant his kid would be able to have a functional life, he supposed that counted for something.

He'd thought about easing up on being a hard-ass about Ethan watching T.V. but decided against it. He'd already decided that Ethan wasn't getting shit back until they hit the two week mark. The kid deserved a punishment. He wasn't going to start being wishy-washy on that. Bad precedent to set. So, instead, he'd hauled Ethan's ass out to the back and sat with him on Camille's fucking porch swing.

Sometimes Hank was amazed the fucking thing was still standing. They'd had it long enough. It'd had it's fair share of tweaks and repairs and battery over the years. But it'd stuck it out – even though it showed its age. It'd been a fucking sad day when that thing finally bit the dust. But Hank would likely continue to nurse the think along for as long as he could. It'd likely have to collapse under someone before he finally thought about getting rid of it. He was likely kidding himself even on that, though. If the thing fucking broke apart, he'd likely just fuck around until he could get all the parts necessary to piece it back together. It wouldn't matter if he was only able to save a few parts – at least it'd be parts from Camille's. And, Camille had fucking loved that damn swing.

The thing was, though, that the swing was just about a sedative for Ethan too. The kid likely didn't know it – but it was. Hank had spent a lot of hours in that swing – and not just sitting with his wife when he was home and the weather allowed. It was a great fucking sedative for little kids who wouldn't settle. Hours and hours he'd spent rocking both Justin and Ethan in that chair. Fucking hours more he'd spent out there in that swing with Erin in the months after she'd come into their home and she tried to settle into the family and struggled to find her place in the community they were trying to get her to fit into. He knew for a fact that both her and Justin had both had dates out in that fucking swing too. Necking fests that he'd switched the porch light on and stood in the door until the fucking teens sheepishly got out of his fucking backyard. Little assholes. Few years down the road and he'd likely be having to deter Magoo from adopting the swing as a fucking make-out spot too. Little fucker.

For now, though, he was just a tired, sad little kid. Hank wasn't sure Ethan saw it that way – but he sure as fuck did. Ethan was starting to try to be fucking jackass. Trying to push passed his pre-teens and get into his teens. To grow the fuck up. To get too big for his fucking shorts. When the little fuck hadn't even hit puberty yet.

In the swing, though, Magoo was just a little kid. And Hank let him be. Didn't tell him to grow up. Didn't brow beat him. Didn't make him be a man. Just let him be his little son. He figured he only got one youngest – and they're only kids for so long. Ethan had been forced to grow up too fast anyways. And, Hank had pushed him to grow up more. The longer he was home, the more Hank was realizing he'd really missed – that he'd given up – on letting his son go for the passed two years. He'd sent away a ten year old who still watched cartoons and had him going in to tuck him in at night with his fucking baseball player sheets on his fucking bunk bed. Now he realized he was barely two years away from having a kid in high school – a full-on teenager who was going to spend the next God knows how many years thinking he knew shit and likely hating his guts. If Justin was any example that'd go on for about a decade. A really long fucking decade. Kids have a way of beating you up and breaking your heart that way – even though you know it's part of them growing up and being a man and just how you interact with your father when you're a boy. But it still is a fucking rough bump to get through. Doesn't feel too natural that this fucking life you created and nurtured and protected and gave fucking everything to now pretty much thinks you're the worst fucking thing that ever happened to them. Mostly makes you want to take rocks to their skulls.

Hank didn't want to miss more than he already had with Magoo. He'd missed too much. The good and the bad. He'd let himself take his eyes off him. And he'd fucked up badly there.

He was really having to reassess everything. This was going to take a different approach than he had with Justin and Erin. A really fucking different approach. The kind of advocacy and help Ethan was going to need was going to be different than those two kids. And the kind of attention and support he needed? That was going to be different too. The way Ethan responded to things was so fucking different than the other two too. It was going to be navigating a fucking minefield. Hank didn't exactly relish it. He knew he was going to have to be softer with Ethan but he couldn't be a fucking pushover because he could already tell that his son was going to need to be pushed. Fuck, sometimes he was going to need to be dragged kicking and screaming. They had a long fucking haul ahead of them.

And they were going to have to do it without Camille.

Thank God he wasn't in the Gang Unit anymore. This wouldn't be fucking possible if it was. He'd be so fucked. He'd likely have to go back to the beat. Fucking patrol. Be a fucking dog cop. Pull some strings to get some sort of standardized shift. It'd be fucking awful. But sometimes you just had to do shit for your family. It would've been one of those times. But fuck.

At least with Intelligence they mostly had standardized hours. Long shifts – but almost predictable. Except for the times it wasn't predictable. But Ethan was old enough he could leave him alone. He didn't much relish the thought of leaving him alone in the house. But they'd have a talk soon enough about what him being there alone meant – especially at night. There'd be fucking rules and procedures and safety protocol. His son was going to be safe. Period.

They'd figure out. They'd make it work.

There wasn't a lot of choice in the matter.

Ethan had eventually passed out in the swing – leaning full-on against Voight. Beyond deadweight. Hank had let him for a good long while. He wasn't in any hurry to go to sleep himself. And, really, he only got so many chances to be affectionate with his kids. At least Ethan was at an age where he still allowed it. That wouldn't be lasting much longer. It'd rapidly disappear.

When Hank finally did decide it was time for him to try to get some shut-eye too, he again ended up hauling his twelve year old up the stairs. Ethan didn't even stir. The anxiety med and the swing had done their job. Or so he'd thought.

Voight had only been in bed for maybe three hours when he heard Ethan wandering around the upper floor. At first he'd just rolled over, listening expecting to hear the kid taking a leak in their house of near fucking non-existent sound-proofing. But the sound hadn't come and he'd realized that the next creak in the floor was his son loitering outside his bedroom door, peaking in through the crack.

"What?" Hank had demanded, opening his eyes just enough to eye the red numbers of the alarm clock. Fucking four a.m.

"I can't sleep," Ethan said quietly.

"Go back to bed, Ethan," Hank had demanded.

The floorboards only creaked with him shifting from one foot to the other – not him moving. Hank ignored him, closing his eyes again. Normally he'd be in bed another about hour to 90 minutes before rising. Functioning on four hours sleep wasn't a big deal for him. Four hours was actually about average for him most nights. But he was definitely getting to the age that his body and mind felt it when he didn't hit the four hour mark. He liked there to be good reason when he was getting less than four. This didn't make the list.

"Can I lay in Mom's spot?" Ethan near whispered.

Hank let out a slow sigh and rolled to look at the kid – as much as he could see him through the crack. He looked wide awake, though. So maybe the anxiety pill hadn't worked exactly the way Hank would've opted for – or it had worked too well all together. Or not well enough. Ethan wanting to sleep in his Mom's spot was pretty much reverting back to behavior five years old.

That was the thing. Ethan had lost a lot of fucking memory in the blows he'd taken to his head. There were missing bits that went months back before the thing had even happened. But he definitely didn't remember anything about what happened. Or being in the hospital until he woke up from the coma. His short-term memory in the weeks that followed was so fucked up that he really didn't retain anything for much of the stay after either. It'd taken a lot of work and treatment to get that part of his brain functioning quite right again. As close to quite right as they ever got it too. Though, they'd blamed that on PTSD more than his brain being scrambled. Hank wasn't quite sure he bought that.

But what was clear was that Ethan didn't know his mother was gone when he'd woken up. And with his brain and memory working the way it was for the first while after it was a repeated conversation he'd had to have over and over heart-wrenching time again and again. When they did get him home, Ethan had sought out his mother. It'd seemed like for months he was still not quite understanding. Still waiting for her to come home. They'd had to have a second memorial service to try to give him some closure. Repeated trips to the cemetery to get his fucking seven year old to grasp that his mother was gone – she wasn't coming back. There's a way to fuck with your own head too. And to send your fucking teetering teenaged son over the edge apparently.

Ethan would be in their bedroom too much. Mommy's side of the bed. Mommy's side of the closet. Mommy's slippers. Mommy's make-up. Mommy's perfume. He needed to check it constantly. Smell it. Make sure it was there. All of it. In the exact right spot within Ethan's little OCD fidgeting.

If all this bullshit going on right now was triggering that psychosis again Hank wasn't sure he could do it. It'd right fucked him up too. It's pretty hard to fucking move on when you've got a kid who can hardly even remember what he's lost without having to be retold repeatedly and even then to grasp it? No. He wasn't going to have Ethan in there having some of his little episodes. Watching it broke his heart in too many ways. And, beyond that – it was his space. The bedroom was his. His mourning ground. Where he tried to fucking cope and move on and just honor what they had while not living in the past. It was a completely fucked up balance that he knew he didn't come close to pulling off the way he knew he should. But it was what it was. He did the fucking best he could.

So he'd yanked back the covers and gotten out of bed, pulling open the door and looking down at the kid.

"OK, let's go," Hank had said flatly.

Ethan had squinted at him. "Where?"

"Out," Hank had provided. He knew they weren't going to be able to sit there staring at each other that morning. It'd drive them more crazy. "I'm going to take a leak, get showered. We'll go grab some breakfast and then get you over to camp."

"It's early," Ethan had said.

Hank shrugged. "Way you eat, we'll be right on schedule. Go get dressed. Get your crap together."

And he'd been pretty much right. By the time they were out of the house and sitting in the diner, it was ticking toward the early drop-off time for the fucking camp. By time Ethan finished his food and they walked over to the park – they'd probably be right on schedule.

"Magoo," Hank barked and Ethan glanced up at him from his work a little startled. "Eat your fucking cereal. Before it gets soggy."

Ethan gazed at him with some confusion and then put the hovering spoon in his mouth and chewed. Didn't crunch. Chewed. He likely could've just swallowed. The cereal was so far gone at that point. Hank wasn't going to be surprised if he refused to eat it. Maybe that'd be a good thing. He could make them bring out some real food for the kid. All Ethan had agreed on ordering was a fucking bowl of cereal and orange juice. Not Hank's definition of a breakfast – even on the days he wanted to get the kids out the door quickly.

He curled his fingers at Ethan. "OK, give that here," he said and gestured for him to pass the list over. "Eat your breakfast."

Ethan looked at the sheet longingly for a moment. "But I'm not done yet," he muttered.

"It's long enough," Hank said. "I want to see what the hell you're putting on there."

Ethan let out a little sigh but put down the pen and pushed the paper across the table.

Hank marked the page in his book and shifted his eyes to the new reading material as Ethan glanced nervously at him from hunching over his bowl. But he didn't have much of anything to be nervous about – yet. The fucking list looked like it was written in hieroglyphics. There was barely a word on it that he could make out.

He gave Ethan a small glance and the boy quickly looked away, grabbing his glass of juice and chugging at it, looking over the rim at him.

Voight let out a little sigh and looked back to the page. He wanted to say that penmanship just wasn't what it used to be among kids anymore. Not even just kids. The fucking reports and notes that any of the guys in the unit took too looked like chicken scratch. Fucking Ruzek was especially bad. This whole fucking generations of limp dicks dependent on their fucking electronics to record and type in anything. Can't even fucking hold a pencil or form letters right. But with Ethan he worried that the hard-pressed chaotic lines on the page had less to do with him being attached to his fucking laptop and phone than it did with whatever was going on with his fucking head.

Hank gave his head a little shake and then gestured at his son again. "OK, come over here," he ordered. Ethan squinted at him. "I can't fucking read this, Magoo. Come tell me what it says."

Ethan gave him a defeated look. "You promised you wouldn't give me a hard time about the spelling," he said quietly.

Hank put his eyes back to him. "Ethan," he said firmly. "It's not the spelling. I can't fucking read your writing." His son just gave him the puppy dog eyes – the fucking 'please don't be mad, Daddy' eyes. "You want me to hear you out about what you've got on here?"

"Yes," Ethan said softly.

"Then come and fucking read it to me," Hank told him seriously and then pushed over in the booth to make room for his son.

Ethan gazed at him a moment longer but then rose and came around the table. Hank reached and pulled his cereal and juice over to that side of the table as he did in the hopes he'd get the kid to eat a bit more before they had to be on their way.

He pushed the paper between them and plopped his finger on the first item. It he could read. He could actually read the first three. He'd scribbled them down for Ethan before he'd handed him the paper and put him on task. T.V., phone, computer.

"What'd you put next to T.V.?" Hank asked.

Ethan looked at the page like he was having to think about it to truly remember what the writing said too.

"Well, I was sort of thinking that maybe if I haven't done enough to get T.V. back maybe I could just get to watch baseball?" he asked, giving him a hopeful look.

Voight looked at him. The kid looked so nervous about this discussion – like he was sure it was completely going to blow up in his face and be held against him in the grand scheme of things. That writing it down was a way to ensure that none of it ever happened. But that wasn't how Hank did business.

He gave that kid a thin smile and a little nod. "So getting to watch the games is a priority over just T.V.?"

"Well …" Ethan thought about it. "I like other shows too. But it's summer and they ain't on so much and ball's on. So …?"

"Ah," Voight allowed and leaned across the table to retrieve the pen and scribbled a note next to T.V.

Ethan looked at him. "So does that mean I get to watch baseball now?" his son asked watching his hand move across the page.

"No," Hank said flatly and then tapped his finger under what he'd just written. "I put a note. Sports channels."

Ethan let out a little disappointed huff but made no comment. He should know better than to expect writing it on the list meant he was getting it. That wasn't how Voight functioned. But it'd give them both a framework to work within and he pretty much felt that both of them needed that these days.

"What's this say?" Hank tapped his index finger on the first item on the list in Ethan's supposed handwriting.

"Music," Ethan said confidently. Hank gave him a look. "My music is all on my phone and laptop, Dad!" he almost pleaded.

"So maybe you need to earn your phone and laptop back," Hank put back to him.

Ethan gave him a frown. "I know they'll be hard to get back."

"You think they should be easy to get back?" Hank put to him sternly.

Ethan gave a little sigh. "No," he allowed quietly. "But, Dad, maybe I could have some music to listen to sometimes? Maybe Erin has one of the old things before phones?"

"Like a CD player," Hank put flatly.

Ethan gave him a horrified look. "No, like just an old iPod or something!"

"You are you going to get music on that without a computer?" Hank asked.

Ethan thought about that, putting his elbow on the table and resting his chin on it like it required quite a lot of effort. "Maybe you or Erin could for me?"

"Or maybe you should focus on getting your phone and laptop back?" Hank said firmly.

Ethan huffed at him again but Hank ignored it tapped his finger on the next one. "What's this one?"

Ethan leaned and gazed down at it. "Jurassic World!" he said excitedly and gave Voight hopeful eyes. "I really want to see it, Dad. Please."

"Hmm," Hank allowed to that and jotted the movie name next to his scrawl on the page. He might be willing to accommodate that one. If Ethan didn't do something stupid over the next week or so – which was debatable. "OK."

"OK?!" Ethan asked excitedly.

"Okay, I heard you. I wrote it down. Okay, tell me the next one."

Ethan gave him another look. "Dad, am I going to get any of this stuff?" he asked a little dejectedly.

Hank shrugged. "Some of it. When you earn it."

"Well, how am I going to earn it back? I've been doing what you say. I've been behaving," he said.

"You've been home a week, Ethan," Hank said. "Don't think you're out of the dog house yet."

"But you aren't mad anymore," Ethan said with some trepidation.

Hank looked at him seriously. "You fucked up. There's consequences. You're being held accountable for your actions."

Ethan looked away shyly but Hank just tapped on the next item again. "What's this?"

"My bike," Ethan said.

"Your bike?" Hank said with some surprise.

Ethan nodded at him. "Then I could bike to camp and then bike to boxing and bike home," he said.

Hank looked at him seriously. "You thinking I'm just going to let you freeride all over Chicago?"

Ethan gave him a look. "It's not that all over, Dad," he whined.

"Mmm," Hank allowed but made a note on the list. "I think you're likely a little big for the big we've got out back now."

Ethan lit up. "I could get a new one!" he provided hopefully and jammed his finger on the next item on the list. "That one says allowance."

Voight allowed a quiet, repressed laugh at that and gave the kid a look. "You won't have a bike this summer then, Magoo. That's some saving."

Ethan looked at him cautiously. "There's the money you confiscated," he said hesitantly.

Voight gave him a sterner look. "You mean the money you got dealing the medication that I paid for you you were supposed to be taking?"

Ethan shrugged. "It's not like you're going to trade it back with the kids who bought," he said.

"Don't get smart," Hank barked at him a little.

Ethan huffed and sat back in the booth, crossing his arms. "What are you going to do with the money?" he asked.

"Don't think that's your concern," Voight put to him, drilling his eyes into him. "But it sure as hell isn't being used for videogames." He looked back at the list. "Is that fucking thing on here?"

Ethan gave him a sad look but knew well enough to keep his mouth shut. He leaned forward and pointed at an scribbling near the bottom of the page.

"You've pretty effectively eliminated that from your life for the rest of your childhood," Hank told him as he crossed it out.

Ethan gave him a hurt look. "Everyone has them, Dad."

"You aren't everyone."

Ethan very clearly pouted at that but Hank again ignored it – not giving comment. Hadn't had fucking videogames in the house with Justin and Erin – wasn't going to have them with Ethan, especially with some of this mental, twitchy crap in the kid. Didn't want to think about how he'd interact with all that screen time and fucking movement and guns and lights. Fuck him up more. He could play that shit at buddies' houses after he got some. And, he'd likely be constantly deleting them off the kid's phone and computer after he got them back too. He was going to have to have the things into work and get Mouse to set up some major spy and nannyware going on the things. Block out every app and website known to man. Turn the fucking things into glorified typewriters.

"What do you realistically think you'd be using an allowance for?" Hank put to him, after letting him sulk for a moment.

Ethan let out a let sigh and shrugged at him. "Baseball cards, I guess. The concession stand at camp at snack time?"

Hank shook his head. "I don't like you eating that crap. You've eaten enough of it the past few months."

"I don't know, Dad," Ethan whined. "But everyone gets allowance."

"That so?" Voight put to him.

"I know," Ethan said quietly. "I'm not everyone."

"You're not," Hank agreed but still asked, "What do you think is a fair allowance?"

Ethan looked at him a bit more hopefully. "Twenty-five?"

"A month?" Hank asked.

Ethan sat back and gazed at him. Hank knew the kid was likely shooting for $25 a week. Wasn't going to happen.

"Ten a week?" Ethan put forward carefully.

Hank gave a small nod. "That might be fair – depending on how much you're helping at home, doing your chores, and behaving."

Ethan just nodded hard like that was completely acceptable to him. Hank considered him a moment but made another note on the list.

"You're going to have daily responsibilities," he said as he did. "You don't live up to them, there won't be allowance. You give me lip – no allowance. You get in shit – no allowance. It's not a three-strike thing. You have a good week – you'll get some dough. You have a bad week – whatever the reason – you'll lose out. No grey areas."

"OK," Ethan agreed.

Hank thought he likely should've negotiated a little hard. Taken $5 a week or $25 a month for some softer terms. But the kid was too little and too inexperienced to clue into that. He would. Justin and Erin did as they were teens too and renegotiated their pocket money. Ethan likely would too soon enough – even he realized he wasn't raking in the dough on a weekly basis under these terms.

"OK, next," Hank allowed.

Ethan's fingers pointed on at the next two.

"Camping and fishing," he said. "But we could do them the same time."

Hank let out a small smile at that and looked at his boy. "You didn't want to go to camp but you want to go camping and fishing?"

He nodded. "Because then it'd just be us," Ethan said quietly. "Or maybe J could come if the army lets him. Erin won't want to."

Hank smiled a bit more at that and ruffled the kid's hair a bit. "No, your sister definitely won't want to," he affirmed.

"But we could go, right, Dad?" Ethan asked hopefully.

Hank allowed him a little nod. "We'll get the rods out," he confirmed. "We'll see about the camping."

Ethan looked at him a little sadly. "It's better when you do the fish on the fire after, Dad," he said.

Hank gave him a bit more serious look. "Maybe," he said more firmly. "I'll take you fishing this summer. Camping I'm not committing to right now."

Ethan's eyes got big at the comment, though. "But I've earned back a fishing trip?"

Voight just shook his head. His mistake. Shouldn't have said that. But the fact his boy wanted to do something with him that he knew was pretty time expired – that in a year or two there'd be no chance in hell the kid would be interested in doing that for a good long while – had got him distracted.

"You've got one fishing outing in the account – assuming you don't fuck up," Hank clarified. "It's like the tickets to the Cubbies and the museum. You fuck up – it's just going to be a trip we talked about. Not something you actually got to do."

"OK," Ethan allowed quietly.

"What's this last one?" Hank asked.

"For you to sign the field trips form for camp," Ethan said and looked at him.

Hank gave him a firm look. "You've got something from the camp you need me to sign?"

"Yea," Ethan put mildly.

"Then how come this is the first time I'm hearing about it?" Hank ordered.

"Well, it's in my bag and you go through my bag every night and you hadn't said anything so I thought it was like school and you weren't letting me go," Ethan mumbled.

Voight gave him a stern look. "Ethan, don't make fucking assumptions. The camp. The fucking school. They send something home with you. You show it to me."

"But you look in the bag every night!" he protested.

"And you know what I'm checking for," Voight put back to him seriously.

He'd actually seen the forms from the camp already but he'd left it up to his son to tell him about it. He needed to take some responsibility. He wasn't going to give him the forms – then fine. He could sit on his ass at some daycare center for all the misfits that weren't allowed to go on the field trips while the rest of the kids went.

"Get me the form," Hank put to him sternly.

Ethan eyed him and put up, returning to his side of the table and riffling through his backpack before returning with a crumpled sheet and sitting next to Voight again.

Hank took it from him and gave him an annoyed look, holding the mess close to his boy's face. "You treat things from school, camp, your team – with respect. They don't come to me looking like this again," he said.

"OK," Ethan provided softly.

Hank smoothed out the sheet and looked it over – again. He'd already read it when he'd seen it. He glanced at his son.

"I think you've got some more paperwork you should be showing me," he told Ethan harshly.

Ethan puckered for a moment but then went back to his bag and again returned with crumpled pages and set them on the table next to him.

Hank cast him a serious look. "You're home now. When stuff is sent home with you – you give it to me immediately. I find shit in your bag that you should've shown me and buried in there instead – we're going to have a problem. You understand?"

"Yes," Ethan said quietly.

Hank just looked at the paperwork again. "Did they explain how the field trips work to you?" he asked.

"That there's three groups and they go on different trips," Ethan said.

"They tell you what the trips were?" he asked.

Ethan shrugged. "Yeah," he said.

"So which group am I checking off?" Hank asked him.

Ethan lit up. "So I get to go?"

Hank looked at him. "Oh. Did you want me to check off the box for you to stay on the camp grounds?"

"No!" Ethan said hastily. "But I thought since I wasn't allowed at school I wouldn't be –"

"Do not make fucking assumptions," Hank barked at him again. "Communications, Ethan. You talk to me. That's the only way this is going to work."

"OK," Ethan said quietly.

"So you want the theme trip thing, the adventure trips or the educational trips?" Hank asked.

Ethan leaned onto his elbow a bit and gazed at the page. "Which one goes to see the reptiles?"

Hank looked at the list. "C," he said flatly. "The educational. Museums. The zoo. The aquarium. Willis Tower."

Ethan let out a sigh and rested his head against Hank's bicep while he examined the page. "Can I just go on the reptile trip?" he asked. "They're going to see Komodo dragons and a python. You even get to touch some of the snakes, they said."

Hank made a noise. They'd clearly tried to up-sell the "educational" outings to the kids. They likely didn't get too many kids on that bus – at least if the parents were involving the kids in the conversation. If they were filling out the form themselves, he could see mom and dad ticking off column C.

"It's all or nothing, Magoo," he provided.

Ethan just looked sadly at the sheet. "Well, which one does the laser tag and rock climbing?"

Hank gave him a little bump where he was sitting at that and the kid made a sound in discomfort. "You think you're going to be able to run around and shoot off lasers with how your ribs are doing? Climb fucking walls?"

Ethan sighed more and gazed at the sheet. "What's the theme week do again?"

Hank looked at it. "Mix of stuff," was all he provided. His actual thoughts were that the "themes" sounded fucking ridiculous. Imagination and superheroes and mystery and jungle and the circus and time traveler and tropical adventures. But it might be the best bet for Ethan. Nothing too physically demanding.

"It's for the little kids, isn't it?" he said flatly. "It's the one that's going to the indoor playground and the arm?"

"It's got bowling on the list too," Hank allowed.

"Can't I do the adventure trips?" Ethan nearly whined.

Hank gave him a sterner look. "You want me to pay a top-up for you to go on these fucking field trips and then you aren't going to be able to participate when you get there?"

"But I'm playing baseball and boxing and I'm OK," Ethan offered in weak protest.

"You're riding the bench in baseball and you've got people who know what's going on watching you in boxing. It's going to be fucking college kids with their thumbs up their asses at these things. You aren't doing the adventure outings."

Ethan made a noise but quietly said, "Fine. The reptiles."

Hank just ticked off the box without further comment, quickly filling in the rest of the form with his son's info and signing his name.

He snatched the next page and looked at it. "You need to wear a tshirt on the bus trips," he said flatly. "It's ten bucks. You just spent your first week's allowance. Better not fuck up or you'll be in the red."

He lifted his ass off the seat and pulled out his wallet, tossing out ten dollars to go with that form. Ethan again just kept quiet. Some times he wasn't so dumb.

Hank gazed at the last form for a moment and then started working on filling it out. "You know what this one is?" he asked.

"Swimming," Ethan said quietly.

He nodded. "You're going to take the swim evaluation and do the lessons," he said. "You're there. Might as well."

"Dad, I don't –"

"I don't want to hear it," Hank said. "They're at the pool three days a week. Two of the days – you're in the pool. Third day – you want to sit on the deck – fine. But I'm paying for the fucking lessons. So Monday and Wednesday – your ass is in the water, Ethan."

Ethan made a little sound but Hank just looked into his wallet and again counted out some bills for the swimming lessons fee. He shoved the pile of papers and cash toward his son.

"Don't lose it," he said. "And it better not be in your bag tonight. And when I drop you off next and ask about it – those counsellors better be telling me you're all squared away."

Ethan let out a sigh but reached and started to fold the papers up, making a small envelop for the cash out of the folds. But he looked completely dejected. The conversation hadn't gone the way he hoped. But Hank suspected a great deal of their conversations wouldn't.

They were both going to have to adjust their hopes and expectations. Voight was having to. Getting this kid through his teens was going to be an effort. Ethan was going to have to work with him on that.

Hank moved the list of wishful thinking back over to Ethan and drew a line down the center of the page.

"Now on this side, you're going to start writing down things you can do to start earning some of these things," Hank said.

Ethan squinted at him. "Like what?"

Hank gave a shrug. "To start, finish up your room. You're going to be doing dinner twice a week for us. I want to hear what you think are some fair chores and responsibilities. You can show me the list tonight."

"You aren't going to like any of my ideas," Ethan said flatly.

"You don't know that," Hank provided.

"Yeah, I do," Ethan said. "You didn't like my list already."

"It's fine, Ethan," Voight said. "You were reasonable with what privileges you'd like to have. So we'll be reasonable figuring out a way for you to have them."

Ethan scrunched his eyes.

Voight got the sense that Ethan didn't quite agree that he was going to be reasonable. But he was. He wanted his boy to have a nice summer – a comfortable life – too. It was why he did the work he did. Why he was the way he was.

Some day his kids would get that. All of them.


	31. In

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

"Yeah, I'm in," Ruzek said excitedly. "But this a guys thing? Kim will—"

Jay just shook his head. "Nah, yeah, invite Burgess. Likely won't happen anyways unless Lindsay gets onboard."

Atwater glanced up at them as he came into the kitchenette where they were all loading up on their morning coffee.

Jay really needed the coffee. He was running on about zero sleep. But it was a good way to be running considering the circumstances. He'd deal. He'd gone longer without sleep for way shittier reasons.

"What won't happen?" Atwater asked.

"Paintball," Ruzek told him firmly and snapped his fingers at Atwater. "You in, bro?"

"Hellya," Atwater agreed. "When's this?"

"I don't know," Jay said. "I'll have to look into it. Book a field."

"Do CPX," Atwater said, pushing in to get his own mug and pour a mug. "I know a guy there. Get us a discount."

"Wait, wait," Ruzek said. "You're setting this up for Voight's kid, right?"

"Wait! What?" Atwater interrupted. "Nah, nah, man. I'm not playing with some twelve-year-old – much less shooting at the Sergeant's kid."

"Forget that," Ruzek said and looked at Jay. "It's for Voight's kid. So he's paying, right?"

Jay gave him a look. "Ruzek, you are so fucking cheap," he said and moved to walk out of the room.

"What?" Ruzek followed after him. "Com'on. Paintball ain't cheap. I'm still on an officer's salary here. And, Kev's right. We're shooting at Voight's kid we need some sort of like Danger Pay. Voight putting up the fee. That's like permission to pummel the kid."

Jay cast him a look. "If the kid's there to play, he's there to play," he said firmly. "That's all permission you need. You aren't fucking asking Voight to pay your way."

"Just saying if we're entertaining his kid, maybe he should foot the bill," Ruzek contended.

Jay gave him an even more disgusted look. "I want to play paintball," he said. "I'm inviting who I want. Not Voight."

"And you're inviting Voight's kid?" Atwater said in some disbelief.

Jay shrugged. The kid had seemed pretty interested. Erin had said she'd think about it and vaguely committed to talking to Voight about it. And, hell, it sounded like a decent afternoon out to Jay. Something different than sitting in a bar or watching a game for once. And it might get him some points with Erin if the kid actually had fun.

"Wait!" Ruzek interjected. "Is Voight coming?"

"OK, no," Atwater said, shaking his head and walking back to his desk. "I'm out."

"What? C'mon, brother," Ruzek called after him with some disbelief.

"I ain't shooting at no twelve year old and I definitely ain't shooting at the sarge," Atwater said with another firm head shake and sat down at his desk, now clearly completely disengaging himself from the conversation.

Ruzek just looked back to Halstead, undeterred. "If you're bringing Voight, you have to get Olinsky. Fuck, I've like to have the chance to pump some into him," he said and held up his arms like he was looking through a scope and then jerked back like he'd pulled the trigger and felt the release. "Hells ya."

Jay gave him an even more patronizing look. "There's no way in hell Olinsky would even consider coming – and even if he did you wouldn't get anywhere near him."

Ruzek just shook his head at him and went to his desk, beating his fingers against his keyboard in an effort to get his computer to come out of its sleep cycle. "Yeah, Jay – you and Lindsay are the fucking hotshots. Got it."

"No," Jay pressed back at him. Sometimes Ruzek so fucking annoyed him. He was a nice enough guy but he had too big of chip on his shoulder. His fucking ego might've improved a bit but he still needed some good kicks in the ass. He acted so fucking young sometimes. "Because Olinsky would find a spot, play fucking sniper the entire game, and you wouldn't ever see him."

"Whatever," Ruzek muttered and pulled out his chair and slumped into it. "Find out if Voight's paying and I'm in."

"I'm not paying for you pigs fucking lunch again," Voight suddenly said and their eyes all snapped to him as he appeared at the top of the stairs. "You make this bullpen look like a fucking slop trough when you eat in here. Buy your own food and eat in the fucking lunch room."

"Ah … right," Ruzek said casting Jay a hesitant look. "Sure, Boss."

"Halstead," Voight barked again and pointed at his office that he was storming toward.

"Ah …" Jay stuttered and exchanged looks with Atwater and Ruzek. They all looked like he was getting called into the principal's office. Because he was. You didn't want to get called into Voight's office.

"Move it," Voight spat again from holding open the door.

Jay let out a quiet sigh and moved to join him. He weighed in his head if Voight had overheard them. He'd clearly overheard something. And after you got to the gate at the bottom of the steps you could really hear most of what was being said up in the bullpen. Or at least you could when Ruzek was talking. Everything had to be said at a level like he was fucking yelling above gunfire. The guy didn't know what an indoor voice was.

Voight overhearing the paintball plans might be enough to get him in shit – but with the look he was getting he was thinking that it was more likely that Erin had been right about the kid's inability to keep his mouth shut. That they were in deep shit. That he again was going to get some lecture about keeping it in his pants if he wanted a job. And Erin and his other kid being completely off limits. And that he didn't like repeating himself.

That he saw and heard everything. All the time.

In a way Halstead kind of believed that statement. Voight did have a way of seeming to know all the right people in all the right places a little too conveniently. Jay didn't like it.

Worse – Erin wasn't in yet. She'd left his place around five. She'd said she was just going home to shower and put on a change of clothes. Voight would definitely notice and have questions if she showed up at work in the same clothes as the day before. How he could notice that but look like he wore the same shirt for months on end, Jay didn't know. The guy must have a fucking closet full of them.

Not that Jay thought that a change of clothes was likely going to do them any favors. He kind of felt like they were just oozing the reality of them having had sex the night before. Or maybe he was just acutely aware of Voight being attuned to it. That he'd been watching them – since he'd been watching them. He wasn't sure any amount of showering or change of clothes was going to hid it entirely. Not under Voight's observation.

And, now Erin hadn't arrived at work yet. Had she passed out to try to get a couple hours of sleep herself? Or did she end up going over to Voight's that morning to try to find out how whatever conversation he was supposed to be having with his kid had gone? Did he fucking know where she'd been then? Had Ethan spilled the beans? Had she already been reamed out?

He picked up his phone, glancing at the screen, to see if he'd missed any texts or calls from her. She would've warned him if the shit was hitting the fan, right? There weren't any.

He slowly entered Voight's office and the man closed the door behind him before moving behind his desk. The closed door was always a bad sign.

"Your brother, Will," Voight said rasped. His voice sounded worse than usual. Almost like he'd been drinking or smoking – or wasn't running on much sleep either. "He still at Chicago Med?"

Jay squinted at him, crossing his arms. "Yeah," he allowed with some skepticism about where this conversation might be going.

Voight gave a nod and grabbed a business card off his desk and held it out at Jay. "Good. I want to talk to him. Set it up or have him give me a call."

Jay didn't take the card. Instead he crossed his arms a bit tighter – visibly to make sure Voight definitely saw it.

"I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that," Jay said. Voight just smacked his lips at that – a clear sign that he was unimpressed. Sometimes it struck Jay as almost snake-like. The guy was about to fucking devor you if you weren't careful. "The last two times you've talked to my brother—"

Voight pressed the card forward again. "Not work related," he said firmly.

Jay gazed at him and let out a small sound but took the card and looked at it even though he didn't need to.

"Look, Lindsay had said—" Jay started.

"What'd Erin say?" Voight said. There was a tone to it. A clear disapproval that Erin had said anything to him about anything. That she'd spoken outside of class. Or rather that she'd likely broken whatever their rule was about talking about family.

"Nothing," Jay clarified, though he knew that did nothing to save Erin from Voight's wrath now. She was likely going to get a commentary about having said anything to him about the family situation. Even if she was able to put it off as just partners talking and venting while in transit. And her having to listen to that bullshit from Voight meant that Halstead was going to be in her shit-house too since he was the one that would've confirmed it. She would've danced around it endlessly if Voight had just gone at her about it without Jay having said anything.

"Good," Voight said. "Because my family's business is my family's business. And when you're at work – you are talking about work."

"Well, we're talking about your family business at work right now, aren't we?" Halstead put back to him with just the right amount of time. The guy had such fucking double standards. Everyone had to play by his rules – except him. Apparently all these fucking rules didn't apply when it came to his own conduct.

"We aren't talking about anything," Voight put back to him. "I'm handing you a card and telling you to have Will call me."

Jay let out an annoyed breath and looked down at the card again and tossed it on Voight's desk.

"I don't manage my brother's referrals," he said. Voight just glared at him with that downcast stare he did. This angle he pulled off that even though he was shorter than everyone in the room it still always fucking felt like he was looking down at you. "And, even if I did, my brother isn't some expert on brain injury."

Voight's glare intensified at that. "I didn't hear anyone say anything about brain injury."

"Oh, c'mon," Jay said frustratedly and gestured at the door. "You bring your kid into District and you think tongues aren't wagging on the gossip mill."

"I like to think that most people in this building are here to work," Voight put back to him. "I especially think the people in this Unit have too much to do to be having some little hen cluck fest. Or am I wrong on that?"

Jay sighed and crossed his arms tightly again. "Will's a surgeon," he pressed back.

"An emergency room surgeon," Voight said. "At Chicago Med. You think he doesn't see brain injury coming into that theater? That he doesn't know the docs up in other departments?"

"I thought we weren't talking about brain injury," Jay said coyly.

Voight's glare turned to drill bits. "We're not."

Jay huffed. "Well, if you're thinking about…" Jay gestured angrily at the side of his face. "He did fucking breast implants and some cleft palate. Not …"

Voight's glare completely glassed over. The intensity of it Jay hadn't seen him direct at another cop before. But there was a complete rage boiling under it.

"You don't talk about my son," Voight spat in near fucking staccato. It was like each word was it's own sentence. And individual sound like rapid gun fire. "You don't fucking even look at him."

Halstead just glared back. "Are we done?"

Voight stepped forward and tossed the card to the far side of the desk again. "I asked nicely," he said, giving him another stare down. "I would like to speak to your brother. Briefly. You set that up. Or I will."

Jay drilled his eyes right back but stepped forward and grabbed the fucking card, opening the door loudly and leaving. Erin was coming up the stairs just as he did and stopped in her tracks as she saw were he was coming from, giving him a concerned look. He just shook his head at her and stormed over to his desk, slouching down, opening his desk drawer, dropping the card in and slamming it shut. He cast a look at Voight who'd come out of his office to glare at him and cast a look at Erin too.

"You," he said pointing at her and then into the office.

She gave Halstead a glare as she went by but there was a question and concern behind it too. He just rolled his eyes and gave his head a small shake – even though he knew Voight would see that too likely want to know what it was all about.

Fuck this, Halstead thought. Their fucking family dynamic was too fucking much. And he didn't know it was worth it. He didn't get to have a real relationship with her and every fucking time he so much as looked at her he was in Voight's bad books. He had enough problems getting along with the guy as it was. He couldn't play this fucking walk the tightrope, hide in the shadows game. Not again.

They told Voight. They made it real. They decided if they could really work. And work together. And work with Voight. Or they weren't going to fucking play this game.

It was too fucked up.

And it sucked. Because it felt like something. Something real.


	32. Can-Do Attitude

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Hermann trudged cautiously over to the man he didn't particularly want to talk to but who he had somehow been nominated to talk to. He supposed the rest of the guys figured he might be the one Voight was least likely to rip apart in public. Chris wasn't so sure about that, though.

Even, though, he didn't have any real direct run-ins with the guy to like him or hate him one way or another, he did know enough about him that he knew he didn't want much to do with him. Just not his kind of person as far as Hermann could tell. Then again, he didn't think he was much of anyone's kind of person. Though, it sorta gave him the benefit of the doubt since some of his guys were regular patrons at Molly's and they seemed like decent enough folks. And, then the whole Dawson's brother serving under him and Gabby was a good kid. But then Gabby and Casey and the whole Casey thing.

So yeah, that got him right back into the whole prefer not to speak to the guy realm. But here he was. Hiking across the park to talk to a guy that clearly looked like he really didn't want to be talked to.

"Ah, hey, heya," Hermann greeted with a forced smile and held out his hand. "Chris Hermann. We've sorta met. I'm over at Boden's house. Own Molly's."

"I know who you are," the guy rasped at him and didn't even glance at him, let alone make any move to take his hand.

Hermann stood there a moment. He thought that was a real asshole move but you know the jury seemed split on just how much of an asshole this guy actually was. Did he need to spend time playing nice with the assholes, though? You'd think one of the guys in blue could do that but they seemed really fucking scared of him. And the regular guys there – well, they were terrified. This guy looked like a total street corner thug you didn't want to be anywhere near – let alone having his kid on your team. Real Chicago – and not in the way you wanted to promote to the tourists.

"Ah," Hermann tried again and pointed over to where all the other dad and parents and families were sitting in behind the backstop watching the ball practice. Chatting. Playing nice. Catching up. Being a community. "You know you're welcome to join us."

Voight just shoved his hands into his leather jacket farther. It was the end of June. Almost 75 degrees outside and the guy is in a leather jacket? That's taking the whole tough guy image a little too far.

"Yeah," Hermann acknowledged and shoved his hands into his own jean pockets. "Pretty nice over here. Nice shady tree," he added glancing around. "Quiet."

"It was," Voight put flatly.

Herman cast him another look – more of a glare. But the guy's eyes still hadn't left the field. He was clearly monitoring his kid.

"Ah … so … Ethan's yours, right?" Hermann tried yet again but still didn't get a response. It was like the guy was deaf or took anti-social to a whole new level. "Yeah, Hermann nodded on Voight's behalf. "I saw your girl bring him over to practice the other day." He got a glance at that but it was accompanied with a firm glare. "Ah … I mean your detective," he corrected. "Erin," he added and then stuttered for another moment while he thought about it. "Lindsay?" The glare just seemed to intensify at that. Jesus H. Christ the guy was prickly. So he just pointed out to the field trying to deflect it again. "My boy's Luke," he said.

Apparently that was enough to at least end the glare. Voight's eyes went back to the field but Hermann didn't get the sense he was checking out Luke's mad skillz out on the field. That was likely a good thing. It pretty much looked like Luke was staring at a squirrel rather than participating in the drill. The kid wasn't much of an athlete and it just didn't make sense. He was a Hermann. He should love this stuff. Meanwhile, he'd likely be happy to ride the bench and chew on his Big League and Spitz. Go out for some ice cream or pizza after a few winning games and call it a season. 'Course they'd have to win a game to warrant ice cream or pizza and that wasn't looking so good at this point.

"So some of the dads might've heard that your boy is a bit of a baseball star," Hermann tired cautiously.

"That so," Voight muttered and spit off into the grass. Maybe he was working on some of his own Spitz. Whatever it was, the guy had definitely been chewing on some kind of cud ever since he walked over.

"Well, I've only seen him play the last two practices," Hermann offered and gestured out on the field with the rest of the kids. "But, you know, it doesn't take a lot to stand out in this group."

"Mmm," Voight allowed.

That had to be positive, right? That was almost a response. Well, it was at least an acknowledgement. That counted for something. With this guy.

"Yeah, kids haven't won a game yet," Hermann provided and gave Voight a look, sorta hoping that maybe he might be connecting with him now. But apparently not. "Sorta demoralizing for the kids," he tried. Still nothing. "Maybe for the dads too?"

"Mmm," Voight said and cast him a look. "Shouldn't be."

"Yeah, well, you know how it is," Hermann said.

"I don't think I do," Voight rasped and spat into the grass.

Actually, Hermann was pretty damn sure the guy meant that. This guy seemed like he was cut from a different mould. He'd known that before but this little 'conversation' was definitely confirming that little theory.

"They aren't the ones playing," Voight said more directly and actually gave him a glance.

"Yeah, but who doesn't want their kid to be on the winning team," Hermann smiled. "Am I right?"

Voight smacked his lips and shook his head. "I don't think you are," he said flatly and turned back to watching the drill again.

"Oh, c'mon, you must be used to watching games a bit more interesting than this if this chatter about your kid holds any water?"

Another spit. "Maybe you all should stop wagging tongues," Voight said flatly. "Put that energy into working on some fundamentals with your kids."

Hermann prickled at that and glared at him. He spent fucking time with his kids. Lots of time. From what he heard about this guy, he didn't think the same was true for him. One kid had gone to jail. This kid – yeah – Hermann vaguely remembered him being around in T-ball league. He knew what had 'happened' and that that had sidelined the kid for a couple years. But lately? No one seemed to have seen hide nor hair of him in the neighborhood teams and community programs. So either Voight thought he was too fucking good to be part of the neighborhood or the chatter that he'd had enough cash on his CPD sergeant's salary (yeah, right) to send his kid to a private boarding school was his definition of 'spending time' with his kid and working on 'fundamentals'. Or paying someone else to do all that with money he'd bribed or extorted or God knows what from who knows who.

The period of giving him benefit of the doubt was likely quickly coming to an end. Someone else should've come and talked to him.

But it was then that his kid jogged across the field and up to Voight. The guy's demeanor seemed to soften ever so slightly. Not in like a mushy teddy bear way but his stance wasn't quite as stiff. Even glancing at him, Hermann could see his face didn't look quite as threatening. But he supposed you'd have to be a real cold hearted bastard to keep up that act with your own flesh and blood too.

"Dad," the boy huffed a bit as he got over, clearly a little out of breath and clutching as his one side like he was cramping and leaning forward to put his hands on his knees. So maybe this kid wasn't quite the fit superstar that everyone was making him out to be. Even Voight's hand landed on the kid's shoulder as he did some labored breathing.

"Hey, Ethan," Hermann greeted overly friendlily. Voight cast him another look and even the kid looked at him like he was growing a second-head. "I'm Luke's dad," he said and pointed out on the field again. But the kid just kept staring at him like he wanted him to fuck off about as much as his dad. Like father like son.

"Hey, Ethan," he pressed forward. "You like hockey?"

"No," the kid said and gave him a look.

Hermann made a face. "What? Not even the Blackhawks?"

The kid squinted at him and gave his dad a questioning look. Voight just sent drill bits that might as well have been bullets into his skull.

"Because, you know, Ethan, I coach a hockey team in the winter and we'd love to have an athlete like you," Hermann offered up and gave Voight a hopefully look. A trade. Help each other out.

"He doesn't play hockey," Voight put to him flatly.

"Does he skate? Because—"

"Hermann, shut. The. Fuck. Up," Voight ordered and Hermann gaped at him a little surprised. Taken a back that the guy pulled out that kind of language in front of his kid. Or just to a person he hardly knew. But he supposed he shouldn't be surprised. The guy's eyes shifted back to his kid. "What's up Magoo?"

The kid managed to straighten a bit from his jog. "Coach wants to know if I'm allowed to be catcher for the rest of practice?"

Voight looked at the kid. "You want to play the position?"

The kid nodded. "Coach Bowzer never let me try in the drills 'cause he said I'd never be able to make a double-play."

Voight nodded and patted him on the shoulder several times and then gestured back across the grass to the field. "Then go play catcher," he said.

A wide grin spread across the kid's face. Hermann found it a little shocking that Voight could make anyone smile like that – even if it was his own kid. So the kid's standards were likely pretty low. Probably any sort of praise or acknowledgement earned a smile he got it so infrequently.

He started to dash away but then stopped a few steps in and ran back. "Oh, and Coach Melvin wants to talk to you before we leave," he said.

Voight just nodded again and knocked the rim of his kid's cap up a bit. God, the kid's face was a fucking mess. Hermann hardly could stand to look at it and he'd seen some pretty bad injuries over the years. Didn't get any easier, though, seeing it after the fact. Especially when it was on a kid and you knew that they were going to be wearing those scars for life. Inside and out. Big burden to carry. For the kid and for the parent too.

"OK," Voight acknowledged and the kid started to dash away again. "Make sure you get all the pads on tight – and right," he called after him.

Hermann clapped. "Good job, Ethan," he yelled out. "Nice can-do attitude."

He felt a glare on the side of his head again and turned to see Voight giving him daggers.

"Hermann, go the fuck away," he said flatly.

Herman just gazed at him. Unimpressed.

"I'm just saying that the team could use all the help it could get," he pressed with a bit more tone. "But word is that your kid is going to be riding the bench. And Melvin says that's your call."

"That so," Voight said even more flatly but his tone sounded even more unimpressed than before.

"That is so," Hermann pushed back at him. "So maybe you wanna be a team player. Seems like your kid is. So why not let him go on the field so the rest of these kids can experience what I win feels like."

Voight gave him a look. "Not that it's any of you dickwads' business but my son has got ribs mending. So until the doctor gives him the green-light – no, he's not stepping on the field on game day. And if any of your idiots start encouraging him to push himself at practice and he hurts himself, it's going to be you who's nursing busted ribs."

Hermann just gaped at him. He could understand where the guy was coming from. He wouldn't want his boy getting busted up when he was already busted up. But the way he put it? He could tell that this guy wouldn't hesitate for a moment to follow-through with that threat. But Voight was already moving across the grass in no hurry at all – but away from him. The conversation was clearly over.

"Ah, yeah, nice talking to you," Hermann called at him and held up at hand in a wave. Hopefully that would appease some of the others that he'd had a conversation with him. But he muttered under his breath, "Fucking prick."

This guy clearly wanted more enemies than friends. For him or his kid.


	33. Pricks

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Hank folded his arms over the top of the fence just passed the dugout.

"Hey, Eddie," he called and the guy looked up from his clipboard and gave him a little nod.

He went back to looking at the drill for a moment and then tapped on the shoulder of the younger guy standing with him. The young guy just nodded in quiet acknowledgement of the seeming coaching hand-off and Melvin moved closer to where Voight was standing, leaning against the opposite of the fence and still watching the field.

"Hank," he acknowledged.

Hank gestured to where Ethan was still crouched down in full catcher gear. "He's loving this," he said.

Melvin gave a little nod. "Figured what the hell."

Hank allowed a sound. "It's a position he's wanted to try before. Never let him with the whole southpaw thing."

"Likely don't have a glove kicking around for him," Melvin muttered.

Hank shrugged. "Yeah, maybe."

"Won't likely keep him there," Melvin said. "He said they had him in the outfield on his school team."

Hank nodded. "Yeah. He's got good range. Good hustle. Good arm."

Melvin cast him a glance. "Might want to try him on the mound after he's healed up."

"He's never shown a lot of interest in pitching," Hank said.

"No?" Melvin said with a bit of surprise and gave Hank a look but then gestured across the diamond. "Wadda 'bout First Base?"

"Mmm," Hank allowed. "Maybe. He's played it before. They bounce him around. I'd prefer they pick a position and develop him. But…" he shrugged.

"Still time for all that," Melvin said. "Not that it much matters with these guys."

"Mmm," Hank provided again. "Hear some of these numb nuts are giving you a hard-time about bringing him on-board?"

Melvin cast him a look. "Just white noise, Hank. I don't give a shit. I'd take the same position as you. Kid's got some talent. Don't want him hurting himself more. Hell, I might even let mine drill."

"Mmm," Hank shrugged. "He needs an outlet. I fucking need him focused on something too. He'd drive me crazy if he wasn't playing."

Melvin nodded. "You got him wrapped good."

Voight just grunted. "Just doing what the doc says. But it's likely going to be about six weeks before he's really mended. So these guys thinking he's going to suddenly send their kids up the ladder …"

Melvin just made an amused sound. "Fuck'em," he said.

"So you make me walk over here to talk about my kid's future on this illustrious team?"

Melvin snorted in amusement and gave him a look. "Told Ethan and Erin to tell ya – but seeing as Ethan didn't show up with the cash, I'm assuming they didn't."

Hank rolled his eyes and pulled out his wallet. "Fucking kid is tapping me out today," he muttered. "What you need?"

"Forty-five," Melvin said. "For the uniform. Got some extras in the truck. Otherwise, give me his size and we'll get it ordered."

Hank nodded and tapped the bills on his shoulder. Melvin reached and took them, stuffing them into his pocket without comment.

"Told him to tell ya that we do the White Sox Academy thing each summer too. He says he don't like the White Sox but…" Melvin said and gave him a look.

Hank sighed. "When's that?"

"August," he said flatly. "Think the first Tuesday night. They get to meet a player, do some drills on the field. Tshirt. The usual crap. I've likely got a brochure in the truck too. Or you can just go to their site. There's release forms and crap you need to sign."

"You need the cash for that now too?" Hank asked, looking at his wallet. He was likely going to have to go find a fucking ATM if Ethan was going to cost him any more that night. He was lacking in dollars at the moment.

"Nah," Melvin said. "Team's registered and all that. Just wanted you to know so you can get him squared away on it. Whether he's going or not."

"He'll go," Hank said flatly.

Melvin nodded. "Yeah, figured."

Hank gave him a slapped on the shoulder and started to move to leave. "OK, thanks, Eddie."

Melvin turned before he could, though, and leaned against the fence to face him, lowering his voice.

"Small problem," he said.

Hank stopped and turned back, shoving his hands in his pockets. Melvin gave him an apologetic look. Hank just ran his tongue along his teeth waiting for him to continue. He knew this was likely going to piss him off.

"One of the kids was doing some name-calling," Melvin said quietly, his eyes drifting over to where the rest of the parents were. Hank glanced over his shoulder and could see they were being watched too. "I told him to put a cork in it. But Ethan definitely heard. Some of the other kids too. Bit of baiting going on. I don't like ratting the kids out. Prefer to let the boys sort it out among themselves, but I know you'd said with …" Melvin sighed and shrugged. "Special circumstances, right?"

Hank shrugged. "Appreciate you letting me know, Eddie."

Melvin just frowned at him. There was some clear sympathy to it, which Hank didn't particularly like. But he'd accepted those looks came sometimes – from people who'd known him and Camille. Who'd known Ethan when he was just a normal, perfect, unscathed little boy. And, he'd known Eddie Melvin a long time.

"What were they saying?" Hank asked flatly.

"Calling him Harvey," Melvin said. "Harvey Dent," he clarified. "Two-Face."

Hank felt the sting of that. He knew his pucker had turned to a scowl. He fucking hated that his child had to bear the mark of his mistakes. That it was his youngest son who had to pay for it. Who had to take the awful brunt of the assholes with the big mouths and wagging lips. The assholes who needed their assholes ripped right out of them and shoved down their throats.

"Look I don't even know if Ethan caught onto what they were going on about," Melvin tried.

"He knew they were fucking mocking him," Hank spat and glared at the field.

"He kept it in check, if he did," Melvin tried to tell him assuredly. "No language. No fists flying."

"Yea," Hank muttered. "Because right now he knows he has too."

Ethan might. But Hank sure as hell didn't.

He knew Melvin wasn't going to name-names. And Hank wasn't enough of a hard-ass to go beat the shit out of fucking ten to twelve year olds. But he wouldn't think twice about giving their parents a shakedown. Because fuck this shit. How'd they like their child to have to listen to that kind of bullshit day-in and day-out of their fucking lives. Show some fucking respect for others.

"Kids this age," Melvin said. "These fucking pre-teens? They're little assholes, Hank. Mean little shits."

"Mmm," Hank grunted.

Melvin sighed and leaned more against the fence. "Do you and Tommy O'Shea have history?"

He didn't need to answer that question. Hank glanced over his shoulder and searched the faces of the other parents again. He spotted Tommy glaring right back at them.

"It his kid who's shitting on mine?" he asked.

Melvin just made a noise. It was neither an agreement or a disagreement. Hank turned his eyes back to Eddie and gave him a firm glare.

"His kid's birthday falls on the mid-season party. The family is hosting it. Whole team is going. Told Tommy to get on giving you guys the details. He says no go. But Ethan's going to hear about it, Hank. So, I don't know how you want to deal with that."

"I'll deal with it," Hank said.

He heard Melvin let out another sigh as he moved away making a beeline for the fucking little congregation of camp chairs of these fucking parents looking like some sort of preppy suburban assholes – like they didn't know where they were sitting at, what neighborhood they were from, where they grew up. Like they were just as fucking gentrified as these fucking blocks were becoming anymore. They weren't fucking gentrified. Hank knew these people. Same idiots as always. Just living in nicer houses now.

He glared at O'Shea as he got to where he was sitting in the chair. The asshole must've thought he was stupid enough to hit him right there – in front of their own kids, surrounded by other cops and fucking firefighters and all these yuppie hipster prototypes that were moving into his fucking neighborhood more and more as each month went by and more fucking condos and fancy townhouses took over the modest, narrow homesteads that had lined the streets for fucking generations. They weren't in a fucking bar. Not a street corner. Not even a fucking district building where he likely would've thought about giving him a good slap.

"You got a problem with me?" he barked at O'Shea.

It was loud enough that the guy tried to stand up and back up in apparent surprise that he was at least willing to do that much in public. Fuck him. His job was in public. He lived in public. He and his kid were going to publicly humiliate his boy – he'd fucking humiliate him. And he did.

In O'Shea's haste, he tumbled backward over his retarded chair and fell on his back into the grass.

"Voight! Voight! Why don't we just calm down," fucking Hermann called out and raced forward grabbing at his shoulder.

"Don't fucking touch me," he barked at the guy and yanked away.

It was enough that the rest of the people around him apparently thought Hank was crazed and rather than jumping to O'Shea's way they just stepped out of his way.

Hank went and towered over him. In any other situation he would've crushed his boot into his throat. Pressed it down onto his forehead until the guy fucking felt like his eyes were going to pop out. But instead Hank just stood there – clenching his fists.

"You have a problem with me, you fucking talk to me," Hank spat at him. "You or your little asshole gives my kid a hard time again – and this little conversation is going to look a lot different." And then he really spat, letting the phlegm land just an inch away from the guy's ear in the grass. "Keep the fuck away from my kid."

And he just kept walking - back to his fucking spot in the shade. Away from all these fucking idiots. They weren't going to play nice with his boy – he sure as fuck wasn't going to play nice with them.

Fucking pricks.

 **OK. At this point a min. of 300 readers or 3 reviews will get a chapter update.**


	34. Two Faces

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

"Daddy," Ethan called quietly and Hank looked up from his book.

He'd heard the boy come into the room but hadn't bothered to stop reading. He figured Ethan was making a beeline for the kitchen. But the 'daddy' slip made him stop and take him in. He was standing just at the entrance of the living room looking at him rather hesitantly.

The kid had been gazing at him rather hesitantly since they'd left the diamond, though. Hank knew the kid had seen at least the tail end of what had happened. Ethan had at least heard he'd lost his temper. It'd probably scared the kid a bit. Or at least made him uncomfortable. Neither of them had spoken in the SUV on the way home – though Ethan had kept staring at him.

Hank acknowledged he probably hadn't set the best example. He'd lost his cool. But that happened when it came to his kids. He was better at keeping it in check before Camille. Before Ethan. Before that fucking night. But now whenever anyone came at any of them – approaching it with a level head. It was fucking hard for him. Especially when it was directed at Magoo.

And fuck. It hadn't been about Magoo. It was some fucking beat cop who'd never moved up the ladder. It was from years gone by grudge. A holier than thou attitude about what O'Shea thought he knew. And, he didn't know shit. So he's going to make Ethan a fucking pariah?

Fuck that bullshit.

O'Shea had a problem with him. Fine. They could talk it out – with fists if necessary – like men. But to direct it as his son? It wasn't going to fly. Might as well let the fucking gossip mill send around that message now. Because it was going to be a fucking reality if Ethan was back under Hank's care that he'd be having to interact with some of these dillweeds on a regular basis. They fucking lived there. Voight sure as fuck wasn't moving.

This neighborhood was his home. It was fucking Camille's home. It was his kids' home. It was where they had fucking grown up. And, Ethan was going to have the same fucking opportunity to bike along those streets and go to those parks and play fucking shiny and pick-up and cannonball into the crappy community pool and fucking try to pull the wool over Dad's eyes with drinking and smoking and toking in the garages and around garbage cans in the back alleyways. They weren't going go ostracize his son out of the community because they had a problem with Voight. Or they thought they did.

Fuck them. He did more to ensure that they had a fucking community that their kids could do all that fucking shit in than 95 per cent of those fucking dimwits. Probably more like 99.9 per cent.

Voight's family deserved to be there. His kids sure as fuck did. And Ethan was going to get to play on the fucking local Little League and have his little buddies to get into whatever shit he wanted to get into. Hank would deal with the shit. But he was also going to deal with any of the barriers idiots put up to his kid having buddies – having a fucking 'normal' childhood. It'd been fucked up enough. He was going to get to finish it up as close to 'right' as Hank could manage to make it.

Ethan had enough points against him. Enough things for kids to ostracize him on their own. Their fucking parents weren't going to give them more excuses. Hank wasn't going to allow their fucking opinions on him to be one of the fucking excuses. Ethan was Ethan. He wasn't Hank Voight.

And he was still a little boy. The "Daddy" slip was enough to strike that home yet again.

All the kids did it sometimes. It came out at different times in different ways and for different reasons.

With Erin here slipping up and calling him "dad" was usually enough to indicate that more than something was up. She worked pretty hard to keep him as "Hank". And, fair enough, she had a father. Not one she had a relationship with. But she had a father. And, Hank had never expected that she should consider him 'dad'. Never told her to call him as much. She could call him whatever she was comfortable with. That was always the general rule. And, "Hank" was what she was comfortable. Probably what he was most comfortable with too. Besides he knew she considered him a father figure. That he was "dad" even if that only slipped out when she was under a lot of distress. She'd been his daughter from near the moment they'd brought her into their home. That was enough. They knew what they were and who they were to each other. Family didn't need as elaborate definitions as some people seemed to think.

With Justin it was when it changed from "Pops" to "Dad" that he knew something was up. But even until he was about seventeen there'd been some occasional "Daddy" slips. The last "daddies" had slipped out of his mouth in the weeks following Camille's death. Ethan still in the hospital and his outlook completely unclear. The other two kids at home and floundering and Hank not home enough. The message clearly and effectively being communicated to both of them that anything left of their childhood was over. It was time for them to grow up. They couldn't be kids anymore. Though they'd both still been young adults who needed a lot of support and guidance.

Some dads versus pops had popped out in the lead up to Justin's trial too and the harsh reality that Hank wasn't going to be able to protect him from reality. He'd fucked up. Badly. He was going to have to deal with the very real consequences. But that had been a tough pill for Justin to swallow. For all of them to swallow. It'd had pretty fucking real implications for the whole family. Ones they were still recovering from. Ones that would take a long fucking time to recover from. But they were starting to get there. Two fucking years later.

With Ethan the dad versus daddy slip was different.

Ethan had still been little enough when he was hurt that he'd just started phasing into more consistently using "dad". When he'd woken up, "dad" disappeared from his vocabulary again. Hank had consistently been "daddy" then. The kid was a fucking mess. And, the reality was that in those months of getting him back to an almost functioning boy – Hank had needed to be "daddy" anyways. Something about that title carried more weight. That reminder of just how vulnerable your kids were. These little fucking creatures dependent on you to make it right and to get them through – not matter how stubborn or resilient … or a fucking pain in the ass they were.

The daddy-usage had really just started to fade when Hank was having to pack up his little boy and send him away. A kick in the ass to make this little broken nine-year-old to grow up. He'd pretty much just been "dad" since then. "Daddy" had all but disappeared. But that was expected. Ethan was in a school surrounded by other kids. He wasn't going to make himself a mark by being overheard calling him "Daddy" on the phone or during visits. The kids found enough of an excuse to give him a hard time.

Getting the "Daddy" line now was likely an indication that Ethan might've been a little more rattled by Hank's actions than he thought. Hank really hadn't thought much of it until right then. After they'd gotten home Ethan had headed up to his room and Hank hadn't seen him since. He'd figured Ethan was pissed off at him – either for making a scene and embarrassing him or he felt that dad had been a hypocrite and was working at finding some passive aggressive way to express that without getting himself in shit. But maybe there was more going on than that.

"Yeah, Magoo?" Hank allowed.

Ethan just stared at him for a moment and then looked down at his hands, fidgeting with something there. But he came over and held what looked like baseball cards out at Hank.

"These were in with the Stadium cards," he said quietly. "I can't really understand them. I think it's a game."

Hank looked at the kid's hand for a moment and then gave him a look. He still looked shy and embarrassed but maybe a little different than before. Hank gave him a reassuring look and set his book down on the table, holding out his hand. This was just the way it was going to be for now. He couldn't make the kid feel like a fucking retard every time he needed help. But it was going to take a while before it wasn't a blow in the chest each time the reality sunk in that something just wasn't computing in his boy's head.

"Let's take a look," Hank allowed.

Ethan handed him the little pile of cards and sat down next to him, leaning against him to look at what was in hand. Hank glanced at his boy and then reached, lifting his one arm and wrapping it around the boy to accept and give the affection. Letting the kid lean closer to him while he squinted to read the tiny print on the cards.

Hank was finding it a little odd how his body was adjusting to having Ethan back – and the fact the boy was still on the cusp of being young enough that he sought out a bit of affection and physical reassurance.

Hank had never been completely hands-off when it came to hugging his kids and giving them some physical affection but they weren't an overtly touchy-feely-huggy-cuddly family. Fuck. He just wasn't that as a person. But kids needed affection. Fucking people needed affection. And, really, he didn't think it'd been until after Camille died that he'd realized just how much she'd provided that for him – since they were just kids themselves. With her gone – and his kids off living their lives – he could go weeks and months without much more than a handshake in. There was something not right about that. Something that seemed to make you a little less human.

Ethan had always been a little clingy. He was Camille's boy. The baby. And, he was still just a little kid when she died. He still hadn't outgrown his need for his hugs and cuddles and his silliness.

A lot of that had disappeared. It was only going to disappear more as he aged. Likely would be just about gone by the time he hit fourteen. Nearly invisible by the time he was sixteen and from then on out it would just be the occasional hug, handshake and backslap. And, there was nothing wrong with that. Hank was raising his sons to be men. To man up. To be their own man. To take care of those around them. Those they loved. To be able to stand on their own. But he didn't think that precluded getting the occasional bit of affection from those they loved. He needed to set that example.

He hugged his kids. He touched them. Teased them. Slapped them on the back. Patted that their cheeks. Tapped their chin. Squeezed their shoulders. Tugs at their hair until they giggled.

At least he did when any of them let him.

But Voight was definitely finding some sort of comfort in the little bits of affection Ethan was seeking and needing. That it was stirring some sort of instinct in him. The reminder that this was his kid. His flesh and blood. His own. And, also reminding him again of how fleeting it would be. His youngest would be grown-up too fucking soon. More than he already was. So he better enjoy the tiny bits of it that were left before they were gone. He'd already missed and lost enough.

Ethan leaned across him as he read the cards and grabbed the book off the end table, eyeing it.

"You read a lot, Dad," he said as he stared at the cover.

Hank gave him a glance. "Mmm, yeah," he allowed.

"Why?" Ethan asked with some genuine confusion.

Hank gave him a firmer look. "Why not?" he put back to his kid.

"Because the T.V. is right there," Ethan said and have a bit of a longing glance across the room.

Hank just shrugged under the kid at that. "Can have a book with me at work. Good way to unplug for a bit," he provided.

He was never much for T.V. Nothing was ever on that he ever had too much interest in watching. He'd turn on the game sometimes. But with the kids out of the house the thing didn't get put on that much. But he also wasn't home that much. He preferred to stay at the office. Put in some work. Unwind with his book there. Go over to the social club. Have a drink. Shoot the shit. Keep abreast of things. Play a couple hands of pinochle.

Why sit at home in an empty house staring at a fucking screen? His life didn't need to be that pathetic.

"Is it good?" Ethan asked, still gazing at the cover.

"It's just a pulp fiction," Hank mumbled at him, not paying much attention while he finished off reading the instructions on the baseball cards.

"Pulp fiction?" Ethan said questioningly.

Hank gave him a look and reached and flipped the book in his boy's hands. He knew that he likely couldn't read it. Or at least the letters and words weren't registering in a way that made any sense to him anymore. But Ethan could still look. He could keep nudging him to keep words and reading comprehension in his life. At least until he got him to the fucking doctor and figured out what the fuck was going on and how to deal with this.

"Just an old paperback," he said.

"What's it about?" Ethan asked, clearly not processing anything he was seeing on the cover.

"Spy games stuff," Hank allowed.

"Spy games?"

"Mmm," Hank allowed and took it away from him setting it back on the table. "Cold War era. Mystery thriller. Mind candy.."

Ethan gazed at him like he might as well be talking another language – not just asking him to read English. Hank inwardly sighed. If this was more than a hiccup, this was going to take some fucking work to get through.

"Okay, let's look at these cards, Magoo," Hank said, changing the topic.

He just didn't want to deal with it that night. To think about it. He was thinking about it too fucking much and until he got Ethan in front of the doctor and let them run these fucking tests there likely wasn't going to be much he could do. Take him to a tutor? He didn't know what the fuck that would really accomplish, though. But it was probably going to be one of the fucking recommendations that he paid an arm and a leg to get. Fucking ridiculous.

"Is it a game?" Ethan asked, shifting his eyes back to the cards.

"Yeah," Hank said and pointed at them. "So you pick one of these and scratch it. Gives you a code. You enter it online and then you'll have some chances for prizes."

Ethan took the top card and looked at it. "So I can't really play it right now?"

"You can scratch it," Hank said. "Unless you're going behind my back with the internet, you aren't doing the rest."

Ethan gave him a bit of a look and let out a little sigh. He gazed at the card a bit more. "I only scratch one?"

"Yeah," Hank said and pointed at each one. "That's to play for memorabilia stuff. That's to play for game tickets. There's a trip to Spring Training."

Ethan's eyes lit up at that and he grabbed the next card from the little pile. "Are they all the same?"

Hank shuffled through them quickly. "Yea," he grunted.

Ethan was already working at scratching off the one Spring Training area with his nearly non-existent (from his endless chewing) fingernail. He held it at Hank when he got it cleared. Voight looked again.

"It's just some code. You'll have to enter it online, Magoo," he said.

Ethan let out a huff but started scratching the next one.

Hank ruffled at his hair while he watched him. "Ya know, E, you might wanna wait to scratch them until you see how the rest of the game works."

Ethan's eyes rolled up at him but he shrugged and continued working at getting the wax off the area.

"Scratching is fun," he provided.

Hank made a noise. He bet it was fun for Ethan. It was fidgety and destructive behavior. Ethan liked that kind of shit. But he was making a fucking mess. He'd have to get the kid to pull the vacuum out and clean up all the little shavings from the scratch pads when he was done.

He watched the kid work on the pile for a minute but then asked, "E, some of the kids at ball giving you shit?"

His son shrugged. "I guess."

Nothing more came. Maybe that was because Hank had spent too many years drilling into his kids about his distaste of rats. Maybe he'd told Ethan too many times that he needed to deal with the shit people threw at him. Maybe he thought he was in trouble. Or he didn't want to get other kids in trouble. Didn't want to be a narc. But Hank wanted the story - from Ethan's mouth.

"Coach said he caught some of them doing some name-calling," Hank put flatly.

Ethan just seemed to scratch harder. "Yea," he said, not looking up. "Doesn't matter. They were just calling me Harvey."

"Mmm," Hank grunted, measuring that. "That's not so bad."

It was a ploy. See how the kid reacted. Get a sense on if he'd even registered what was going on. What was being said. Ethan could be oblivious sometimes. Thing was - Hank knew that his kid was far from oblivious when he thought people were talking about him. He could be fucking paranoid about it. Sometimes borderline psychotic about it.

But Ethan just shrugged. "Yea," he provided. "I'm used to it."

"You're used to it?" Hank pressed.

"Yea," Ethan muttered a bit more quietly. "Some kids said it at school too."

"Called you Harvey?"

Ethan nodded. "He's a character from Batman. I looked it up."

"You looked it up?"

Another little nod. "Goggled it. He's one of the bad guys," he said but then got quiet. "Two Face," he added and stared at his scratch card in some sort of contemplating. "He's crazy," he said with even more regret than saying 'two face' had seemed to register.

Hank let out a slow breath and gripped at his kid's shoulder. So he did know why the kids were using that idiotic name. He knew what was being said. But Ethan just shrugged against him. The nervous scratching started again with much more force.

"Comic books and super heroes are kinda dumb," he muttered without much conviction.

Hank gave a little nod at that but held his boy against him a bit more.

He didn't like it. Not one fucking bit. He knew he told the kid not to feel like he had to hide his scars. That he had to live with them and wear them and go out in the fucking world and not be ashamed of them. That the scars weren't who he fucking was. That hiding them just drew more attention to them and made other kids think it was a sore point they were allowed to target.

But even though he spouted that to Ethan, he still fucking hated that that's what people saw when they looked at his child. He fucking hated that it was something that kids used to target him. To mock him. To cause him more fucking pain when his kid had already had to go through so much. But Ethan was a survivor. He'd survive the bullshit of the shitty world and the shitty people who existed in it.

That didn't meant that Hank had to like it, though.

"Eth," Hank said after some moments of just holding his kid, letting him scratch away. "I know that kids say fucking hurtful things. And, I know that especially the next while you're likely going to feel like people are looking at these things," he said and lightly traced his fingers on the side of his face. "But, I want you to remember two things. One - it's the insecure assholes who are saying it. The ones who don't know shit about life. And, you Magoo, know shit about life. You know more than some fucking grown men. So don't let fucking immature children bother you with the crap they spit out. You're better than that."

"Yea," Ethan allowed quietly but there didn't sound like there was much confidence in it. It wasn't the kind of thing that some little pre-teen was going to really believe. Hank knew that.

He let out another inward sigh and leaned, resting his chin on the crown of his son's head where it was resting against his chest as he worked at the fucking card game.

"Other thing I want you to remember, Eth, is that scars or not, you look so much like your Ma. So fucking much." His boy stopped scratching at that. Stilling under the loose embrace Hank had him tucked in. "And your ma was the most beautiful woman – person – I ever met. And, whenever I look at you. When anyone in this family does. That's what we see. And, that fucking radiance. That's going to be what anyone worth a fucking damn is going to see when they look at you."

"Guys aren't supposed to be beautiful," Ethan said quietly.

Hank let out a small amused sound. "You kidding me?" he said. "Fuck beautiful. You're going to be a handsome bastard. You ask your sister where those eyes of yours and this fucking hair is going to get you," he said and gave his locks another ruffle. "Give it some time. Be glad you didn't get this fucking mug."

Ethan gave him a small glance, looking upward at him.

"Mom liked it," he said after examining him for a moment.

Hank let out a repressed laugh at that - a small grunt. "Mmm, she put up with it."

"Justin looks like you," Ethan suggested. "And he's got a girlfriend."

Hank shook him a bit. "He's got a finance."

"That's kind of like a girlfriend," Ethan said.

"Kind of," Hank acknowledged. Wasn't worth getting into the logistics of it with a twelve year old - especially when Justin's situation was complicated. Not ideal. Not a fucking love story. A make it work story. A do the right thing story. But at least Justin was at the point he was mature enough to try to do that. Hopefully it'd stick. For his boy. For Olive and for that grandson he had on the way. There was a hell of a lot more to it now than just Justin. But Hank thought his son got that. Now. Hopefully.

"I meant beauty on the inside and out with your mom," he said after a moment. "And you've got that. You're strong. You're brave. That radiates from you. That's what the right people are going to see. The important ones. None of this shit," he added again, gesturing a bit at his face. "You're one of the strongest and bravest people I know."

The boy squinted at him. "But you're pretty brave, Dad," Ethan said.

Hank just made a semi-amused grunt at that.

"And Erin and Justin," Ethan added firmly. "They could die at work too."

"They aren't going to die at work," Hank said firmly but softly.

"They might," Ethan said. "Like you."

Hank pressed his mouth into his boy's fine blonde hair swirling around the crown on the top of his head. "No one is dying at work," Hank said. "Not today. Everyone gets home on my watch."

"Not everyone," Ethan near whispered.

Hank lifted his cheekbone from his son's head and gazed down at him for a long moment - but Ethan just gazed off with a glazed look at his cards. Hank gripped him a bit to calm him. He could feel the agitation radiating from him.

"Yeah, well, today they did. And, if one day they don't - you'll just have to keep being fucking strong and fucking brave. Because you keep it up, Magoo, and you're going to surpass us."

Ethan looked at him but let himself settle against him for a moment in quiet thought.

"Am I going to get kicked off the team, Dad?" he asked quietly.

Hank shook his head and shook him a bit too. "No," he said. "Don't worry about that. I didn't touch that guy. He just knew he'd fucked up and got nervous. Fell all over himself. Assholes tend to shit themselves when you stand up to them. Only have to put them in their place once."

Ethan gave a little nod and breathed slowly against him for several breaths. His cheek rubbed against Hank's chest. "Thanks for standing up for me," he said quietly.

Hank held him tighter at that. "That's my job, Magoo. People don't get to fuck with this family."

Ethan's arm wrapped loosely around him and he was quiet again for a long beat. "I really missed you," he near whispered. "And Erin. And J."

"I know," Hank allowed quietly. "We missed you too."

And he had. It was true. He thought, though, he was only realizing how much now. That he hadn't let himself really think about it or feel it at the time. He couldn't. It wast the time to show signs of weakness. It was a period where he needed to be the man - the authority - in his family. He needed to do what he needed to do - for all of them. To get their ducks in a row again. To get their feet all back under them. Get fucking established. Move fucking on in whatever existence looked like in that moment while trying to remain fucking true to what he stood for.

But now that it was there in his face? His son. His absence. It was like he was paying and aching for those two fucking years in a whole new way.

"I really want to stay," Ethan said wispily.

"We'll get it sorted," Hank allowed.

He didn't want to be putting promises out there. He didn't want to be easing up too much on the grounding and punishment period just yet. But Hank knew the reality.

Ethan would still be there in the fall. He'd be there until he was done high school. He might even be there after. That's the way it was going to have to be. The way it needed to be. It was where his son needed to be. And where Hank needed him to be to be the father he needed to be. That he wanted to be. That he was.

"I really love you, Dad," Ethan whispered nervously.

Hank let out a slow sigh. Maybe the L word wasn't one they used often enough in their family. One that made he thought he didn't need to say because he did enough for his children to know. But maybe it was something they needed to hear him express verbally more often. Maybe it was something he needed to say for himself too.

He tilted Magoo's forehead up a bit and pressed an exceedingly brief kiss there. This fucking green eyed like cherub who'd grown into this mangled boy with a heart of gold to match his golden locks.

"Ethan, I love you too," he said firmly.

He did. He could only hope his kids – all of them – realized how much.


	35. Lot in Life

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Erin came down the steps to find Hank still sitting at the kitchen table, gazing into a cup of coffee. He had some open bills on the table that he'd been pretending to look at but she didn't get the impression that he'd been doing much in terms of paying them or filing them considering he was in the exact same position as when she'd gone upstairs to say goodnight to Ethan.

"You look like shit, Hank," she said and took a seat across from him. He made a small sound and looked up at her. "You should be going to sleep. Not drinking coffee."

He grunted and sat a bit straighter, picking up one of the bills and looking at it. He probably thought that him pretending to deal with household life would provide some sort of excuse for him to bark at her about them talking later. "Ethan down?" he asked.

She shrugged and slouched back into the hard chair. "Yeah," she allowed. "He was acting like he didn't sleep last night either."

Hank cast her a look but didn't comment.

"Like maybe you had him so upset from your talk about the Trauma Center that he didn't sleep?" she suggested. "So you didn't either?"

Hank just glared at her and took a slow sip of his coffee at that. When he put it down, she reached and pulled it to her side of the table.

He looked ragged. Fine. That was Hank. He always looked a bit like some sort of grizzled scrapper. But when Halstead was saying that he looked like shit it was a given that other people were saying it too. And, if they all started in like that there was a problem. So he needed to quit the fucking caffeine at 10:30 at night and start thinking about maybe getting a bit of shut-eye.

He glared at her and reached and very purposely pulled the mug back across the table. "Pour your own," he said flatly.

"I don't need coffee at this time of night," she said. "And neither do you. We aren't working a case."

He took another sip. "I'm doing some work after you get out of here."

"Mmm," Erin allowed him patronizingly. "I think I'll sleep here tonight."

He shrugged at her and gestured toward the stairs. "Know where your room is. Got clean sheets on the bed for you."

She just gave him a look. "What are you working on tonight, Hank?" she put to him. He didn't answer. "Reading fucking medical journals that don't mean shit to you." The look he gave her just dared her continue – while simultaneously telling her to shut the fuck up. She wasn't in the mood to listen to him that night. Not after the grief she'd put up with from Jay that day – that night. "You need to get him in front of the doctors, Hank. Not reading this shit and getting yourself all upset."

"I'm working on it," he said. "These referrals aren't fucking instant."

"Mmm," Erin put back to him again and glared at him. "That why you're hounding Halstead about talking to his brother?" The look he was giving her was more than a little pissed off. "Halstead's right, Hank," she pushed back anyways. "Will is a plastic surgeon. An emergency room doctor. He doesn't know—"

"You think he doesn't know doctors in that hospital," Hank barked at her, slamming the mug back onto the table to the point it slopped. "You think he doesn't have some strings he can pull?"

She sighed and looked at him a bit more sympathetically. "He's new, Hank. He's only got so many favors he can call in. And he doesn't owe anything to us. To you. If anything –"

"Do you know how long it takes to get through a fucking CER?" he barked at her. "Months. He could loose a whole fucking school year to fucking doctors' appointments. Shrink appointments. Specialists. Fucking evaluations. Just to get on a fucking IEP."

"Hank..," she sighed.

But he jammed his finger on the table, clearly telling her off even more. Telling her the way it was. The way it was going to be.

"I want my boy in there and the paperwork signed to get this shit started. Now. I want a fucking plan in place for him for when I take him to the fucking admissions office. I'm not having my kid sitting in the corner in some fucking dunce cap getting further behind while the rest of the little pricks treat him like some fucking retard."

She let out a slow sigh. "Why don't you just go talk to Father Caruso?" she said. "He'll take care of it."

Hank shook his head and rubbed at his eyes. "I haven't even called to tell him Ethan's coming down the pipes yet. I want to know what we're dealing with first."

"Hank…" she started again but his eyes snapped back at her.

"And, I don't want you fucking talking about this with Halstead," he spat. "I already told you that. This is none of his fucking business."

She drilled daggers into him. "He's my partner, Voight."

He snorted. "Right now, Voight?" he pressed to her. "OK, then as your boss – I am telling you – keep your fucking personal life – your family life - off the fucking job."

She just stared back at him. "Don't even pretend to act like you never talked to Alvin about family. That you aren't talking to him about what's going on now. He found Ethan a fucking baseball team, Hank."

He gave her that look. "Me and Alvin tend to keep our pants on when we have a conversation," he said flatly.

"You have no idea what Jay and I do in our time outside of work," she spat at him. "For all you know we're having a beer. Watching the game. Playing Scrabble."

"You going to sit there and lie to my face?" he put back to her.

She let out a slow breath. "Fuck off, Hank," she said.

"You don't get to talk to me like that," he said and brought his coffee to his mouth again.

Erin leaned across the table, purposely getting more in his face. "Fuck off," she said even more firmly. "It's none of your fucking business."

"While you're in my Unit, it's my fucking business," he told her with a clear and definitive edge.

"You don't get to tell me what I can and can't do in my private, personal time," she pressed, slapping her open hand on the table angrily.

Hank shrugged. "OK, but I do get to tell when you do on city time. And I get to tell you where my son gets to be and who he gets to be around – and Ethan's not going to be anywhere near Halstead."

Erin laughed in his face and sat back in her chair, swiping her fallen hair out of her eyes.

"You're un-fucking-believable," she put to him and found his upset eyes. "So Jay's good enough for Intelligence. But he's not good enough for Ethan? Or me?"

Hank just smacked his lips at her in the way he did. That fucking way that clearly said he'd won. That there wasn't any point of arguing with him about it anymore because he wasn't going to budge. Erin just shook her head and gazed at the table.

"Don't like it, you can always put in for a transfer," Hank said flatly.

She held up her hands in surrender. "Fine, Hank," she said. "You're right. Who needs to trust their partner or have a friendship with him? You know – I'll just go back to hanging out at Bunny's bar after work. Pick up some randoms there."

"Guess you don't want be spending time with Ethan either than," he said flatly.

She shrugged. "Sure," she allowed. "And I guess you're prepared to handle this yourself. It looks like you're doing a real good job," she said and swept the bills over into the spilled coffee.

He smacked his lips at her again and then reached and picked up the bills. Picking them up and shaking them off.

They stared at each other for a bit – privately seething. They did that a lot in their adult relationship. This connection and resistance. Her anger at his inability to accept her as an adult and to let her live her own life – without constantly reminding her of her past mistakes, without constantly checking in on her. Her anger at her own inability to stop feeling like she owed him something. Like she had to listen to him. That she was still accountable to him in some way. But, the reality was she was all those things. She owed him all those things. She'd likely feel that way until the day he died. Probably there after too. There wasn't any way around it. She didn't know if that was normal or not. But sometimes it was so frustrating.

But as much as they butt heads. As much as they pissed each other off. They seemed stuck together. She didn't know how to disconnect herself from him. She didn't know she wanted to. She wasn't sure she could really exist in a meaningful way without him. Not yet. Even at fucking twenty-nine years old. And that made her angry too. She was an adult. A grown woman. She knew how to take care of herself. She'd done it for years – without Voight's help. And, she wasn't sure doing it with his help made it any easier. Just different. Sometimes she thought it made it way more complicated.

She finally let out a sigh and looked at him a little more gently. He was still staring at her. He wasn't angry. He was just Hank. He'd made his point and now he was just waiting for her. Neither of them felt like pushing that topic any farther that night. She knew it. But from the way Jay was seething she knew it was something she was going to have to push one way or the other sometime soon.

Jay didn't want to play games. He didn't want it to drag on for months like last time. She didn't blame him. That'd been unfair to both of them and in the end it ultimately really sucked for both of them. It was just hard. It was different for her. Navigating Voight and her relationship within her family and him as a father figure and him as her boss and then her job – it was complicated.

She knew Voight had a point. That if … when … things blew up … or more likely collapsed … between her and Jay – it was going to be a distraction on the job. That could have real implications for other in the unit. Or worse – for people in the city of Chicago. That was unacceptable within Voight's paradigms and with how she'd been raised – how she'd been taught by him – it really was for her too.

She even knew from talking to Gabby that she might be being delusional in trying to charge forward anyways. Even if her and Jay both decided they were happy to just be "friends". That they could continue to work together after they'd attempted something that resembled a real relationship that didn't work out. Well, it hasn't always that easy. Or that pretty. Gabby and Casey had definitely experienced that. Erin didn't really want to bring that on to the job. She didn't want her or Jay to feel like they couldn't talk to each other or that they had to distance themselves from each other. Or worse – that one of them had to consider leaving. They both wanted to be there doing what they were doing.

It was just hard. He was a nice guy. It felt right. It felt good in a way she wasn't used to. It felt like what she imagined things were supposed to feel like. But at the same time she knew what they were doing didn't look like what these things were supposed to look like. Sneaking around. Not able to be truthful with those around them. Hiding their relationship. Burying feelings. That wasn't real. It wasn't workable.

But none of this was going to be workable without Hank's blessing. And, she didn't know how to reach that without either her or Jay leaving. And that wasn't something she was willing to entertain either.

She let out a slow sigh. "So are you going to tell me how the conversation with him about the Trauma Center appointments went?" she asked – changing topics. It likely still wasn't something they could agree on. But at least it was something that wouldn't make them want to tear the other down brick by brick.

Hank hadn't said anything to her about his talk with Ethan the night before. About the only thing he'd said to her that day was to not fucking share personal family business with Jay and then to bark various work orders at her. So, it seemed as usual, she was left in the dark about what had happened. Not that she needed too much explanation. She could see how tired and upset both Hank and Ethan appeared that night. That told her enough.

"Sure he told you all you needed to know while you were up there," Hank muttered.

She gave him a more critical look. "And, I'm sure you've been sitting her eavesdropping to know we didn't talk about it beyond him saying, 'Dad, says I have to go see the doctors again.'"

He just kept looking at her. That fucking look of his. Those fucking silences. She knew the tactic. But more times than not she still fell for it. Gave him exactly what he wanted because he was annoying the fuck out of her.

"He talked to me about stupid little kid stuff, Hank," she put to him somewhat annoyed. Apparently even conversations with her brother – if they were going to happen in that house – weren't allowed to be private. "He showed me how he's getting the room set up. Showed me the fucking fossil."

"Mmm," Hank allowed. "Don't give him another one of those things. Fucking mess."

She glared at him. "Sorry it didn't meet your level of approved cleanliness, Hank," she spat.

He just looked at her.

"He likes it," she pushed back at him. "And, you know what, if he wants more fucking dinosaur stuff – then I'm buying him more fucking dinosaur stuff."

He shrugged at her. "Good," he said flatly. "You can be the one who sits there and read through it all with him too."

She glared harder. "You know what, Hank? That doesn't fucking bother me," she said. "Because it means he's still trying. He's trying find fucking ways to cope. He knows there's a problem and he's trying to work within it. You should be fucking thankful for that."

He just wrapped his knuckles on the table and looked at her.

"You know what he was doing up there all night, Hank?" she pressed. "You making him write some list of chores and crap he needs to do to navigate out of this fucking grounding maze that we both know it absolute bullshit?"

He just vaguely grunted at her.

"Well, apparently, you couldn't read his writing? And that made him pretty shitty. Again," she said pointedly, drilling her eyes into him. "So he's sitting up there cutting fucking advertisements out of flyers taping them to a fucking sheet of paper to try to SHOW you what he can do to get a few fucking things back so he's not staring at four fucking walls all summer," she said. She felt her eyes welling when she said it.

She'd felt her eyes welling when Ethan was showing it to her. He was trying so fucking hard. And he was just as nervous about showing it to his dad as he had been his written list. Because even if Hank didn't fucking say anything his face always fucking did. The disappointment there was always palpable.

She shook her head at him and looked away, swiping at her eyes a bit. It was a stupid thing to get upset about. But she just felt so bad for him. She hated seeing her little brother hurting. And, she hated that Hank was a source of the hurt. He was better than that. He could be such a good dad when he wanted to be. When he let down some of the fucking tough guy façade. It made it so much fucking hard when she knew Hank was hurting too. He was in a situation he didn't entirely know how to deal with and he wasn't ready to admit it. So he was just charging ahead in his usual fucking way. And that meant there'd be fucking causalities – hurt feelings, tears, black eyes – in the process.

"So you better not give him shit about using a whole roll of fucking tape," she muttered.

She slowly looked back to Hank and he gave her a thin smile. "What's he got on there?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said exasperatedly. "Anything that remotely resembles a cleaning supply."

Hank allowed a quiet repressed sound at that.

"Just let him watch some of his fucking dinosaur shows, Hank," she near begged. "Baseball. Give him his phone back. Make all our lives a bit easier."

"Next week," he said quietly and evenly. "Two weeks."

She sighed and allowed a little nod, swiping a last time at her eyes. "Did you tell him he has to plan dinners or something?"

Hank shrugged. "I'm going to make him do some of the cooking," he provided.

She gave him a small smile. "He's planning the Fourth barbecue," she told him softly. "He thinks it needs to be good because it's the first time he's meeting Olive."

Hank made a small amused noise. "What we eating?"

"Hamburgers," Erin said flatly. "And corn. And potato salad."

"Mmm," Hank allowed. "Carb loading."

Erin allowed a bit of a smile to tug at her lips at that – even though she was still upset with him. "And watermelon," she said.

"I think he's got us confused with the Brady Bunch After-School Special," Hank said.

Erin shook her head at him and looked down. "He's got strawberry shortcake on there too. But he seems to think that you can pull off Camille's sponge cake."

Hank made a noise. "She did Angel Food Cake," he put flatly. "And not likely."

"Don't know he's going to settle for store-bought, Hank," Erin put to him and he gave her a look. "Oh, c'mon, it's for Olive and the baby. You can play Cake Boss."

He shot her some daggers at that so she just gave him a smile and traced her finger on the table.

"He's got fireworks taped to the sheet too. But I don't think we're supposed to eat them."

"I fucking hope not," Hank monotoned.

She gave him a quiet amused noise for his effort and slowly looked back up at him.

"Hank, you can't let him see your concern about this. He's interrupting as you being disappointed with him. Ashamed of him," she said quietly.

"I'm not ashamed of him," Hank said.

She gave him a look. "Hank…" she sighed. He gave her eyes. "I know you always thought he was going to be the smart one. The one who went off to college. Got some degree. Some job. Didn't take up the Voight lot in life."

"Nothing wrong with the Voight lot in life," he said firmly.

"Yea," Erin nodded. "And there's nothing wrong with Ethan being … whatever he ends up being either."

Hank shook his head and looked away. "He's not going to be much if he can't read. Can't do math. Even get his fucking high school diploma?"

"You had to drag me kicking and screaming through high school," she said. "I made it." He just gave her a look – clearly expressing it wasn't the same thing. "He's not the first kid with a brain injury. Or whatever cognitive development issues. Lots of kids are on IEPs. And look at all the kids with dyslexia. They make it through. Find a path in life."

"He doesn't have dyslexia," Hank said flatly.

Erin just gazed at him. "He doesn't," she agreed. "But what he does have – you've got to stop blaming yourself too." He gave an even firmer look that warned her not to push it much farther. "He can sense that too, Hank. And, eventually he's going to start holding that above you. He'll start blaming you too. And, it's not your fault."

"Mmm," Hank said and found her eyes. "How about you try that line on me when you stop blaming yourself for Nadia. And for Teddy."

Erin let out a slow breath and gazed at the table. She gave her head a little shake. "It's not your fault, Hank," she said more quietly. "No one blames you but yourself. And you've got to stop. It's been almost five years."

"Mmm," he allowed again. "And you can lecture me on that when you've lost your spouse. And, that's something that I don't ever want you to have to experience. So let's hope you never have the knowledge to ever think you can provide me with advice on that matter again."

She gave him a hurt look. "Cared about her too, Hank," she said. "And I miss her too. I won't pretend that my relationship with Camille was anything like yours. Or anything like what Justin and Ethan had with their mom. But I care. I hurt too. And I know Camille wouldn't want you blaming yourself. Especially about this. About anything that comes to Ethan."

"Mmm," Hank grunted but provided no further comment. As usual Camille was off the table for conversation. It was just something that wasn't allowed to be spoken about – and somehow that always just made it harder. Erin never knew what she was supposed to say – let alone what she was allowed to feel about it. And, she knew that Justin and Ethan likely struggled with the same things. And, it was likely even more intense for them. She was their mom.

She ran her nail around the seam on the table. "Ethan says you beat the shit out of some guy at practice," she said flatly.

"He's exaggerating," Hank said bluntly.

"Is he?" Erin put back to him.

Hank let out a sigh and spread his fingers on the table. "O'Shea was being a prick. And it sounds like his kid was being a prick too. I walked over. Asked him if he has a problem with me. He's such a fucking pussy, he trips over his own chair and falls flat on his ass. I tell him to fucking stay away from my son. End of story."

Erin gave a little nod but gave him a sad look. "Hank, some of this stuff, I mean, people know who you are. They know who your kids are. Me and Justin both had to deal with some of it. It just is what it is. You can't get your panties in a knot just because it's Ethan."

"They're calling him fucking Two-Face," Hank pushed at her. "He's been home all of two weeks and already they're fucking …" He just shook his head.

Erin gave a little shrug. "He's got a thick skin. You've got to just … let him handle it. Getting into the politics with these kids' parents it's just … going to make it … harder for him."

"The prick is purposely excluding Ethan," Hank said jamming his finger on the table. "Because he doesn't like me."

Erin just looked at him. "Yeah," she said. "And that's going to happen."

Hank made an annoyed sound and shook his head, looking away and gazing out the window into the dark – so more likely seeing his own reflection in the glass.

"He's twelve," he said. "All this fucking bullshit."

She shrugged and stood, giving his shoulder a squeeze. "Go sleep, Hank," she encouraged. "You look like shit. All this shit will sort itself out tomorrow."

"Yea," he muttered. "When I find some more skulls to crack."

She gave him a thin smile but started to retreat, moving back toward the stairs. She really was going to sleep there that night. She wasn't sure she trusted them by themselves. They both seemed too fucking sad.

"Night, Hank," she said.

He just grunted at her – and she could only hope that he didn't stay there staring at his reflection for too long. Or worse, he didn't start trying to Google some solution that didn't exist as soon as she was out of sight.

It'd work itself out, she kept telling herself. It would. It had to. So they'd figure something out and just make it work.

That seemed to be what life was all about.

It wasn't fair.

But you worked it out.


	36. Invite

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Hermann went up to the desk at District 21 and leaned against it.

"Hey Trudy," he greeted. She gave him a bit of a glare. Geez, everyone in this place could be so grouchy. But Chris just nodded his head off toward the stairwell. "The Sarge upstairs around."

"No," Trudy put back to him flatly.

Hermann let out a little sigh and leaned a bit more across the desk. She seemed to take it as a bit of an invitation to be told a secret – and Hermann knew she loved those – so she leaned forward onto the desk too, just waiting for the gossip.

"You hear about what went down the other night?" Hermann asked.

"No," she said with a bit more piqued interest and looked at him intensely.

"Oh," Hermann said a little defeated. He was kind of hoping he wouldn't have to repeat it – especially on Voight's turf. He was sort of hoping that it was just something that lips were flapping about. But apparently not. Or at least not here. But then again, he probably wouldn't flap his lips here either. Not at the risk of experiencing that guy's wrath. "Well, there was a bit of a thing at Voight's kid's ball practice."

Trudy stood up straight. "Don't want to know," she said firmly.

Hermann sighed again. "OK," he allowed but then stuck his hand into his pocket and shoved what was unmistakably an envelop for a children's party across the counter. "Can you just make sure he gets this for me?"

She gazed at it and picked it up – almost like she was looking at evidence. Even the damn envelop had to be done up to look like a ball diamond. But that was Cindy. Hostess with the mostest. If they were going to do this – they were going to do it right. At least whatever Cindy's definition of right is.

Trudy looked at him. "You've got to be kidding me," she said. "I'm not handing this to Hank Voight. Have you met him?"

Hermann gave her a pleading look. "OK, the short version without telling you what actually happened," he said.

Trudy gave him a disapproving look.

"Cross my heart and hope to die," Hermann said, blessing himself in the process. He was going to need it. "Nothing despairing about the guy upstairs in this story."

Trudy flared her nostrils at him but leaned back on the counter and Chris joined her – this time really leaning into whisper.

"So basically someone is being a bit of a jerk and isn't letting Voight's kid come to the mid-season team party," Hermann said quietly. "And, you know, that just ain't right. My Luke. He ain't exactly Mr. Popular either and it hurts the kid when he gets left out of stuff. So me and Cindy we talked about it a bit and decided – OK, yeah, this guy's kid's birthday. He can do what he wants. But attaching the birthday to the mid-season party and leaving out one kid? C'mon," Hermann whined and gave her a look to see if there was any kind of agreement. There seemed to be some understanding. She stood a little straighter. "So me and Cindy – we're going to host the mid-season party instead. So, you know, Ethan can come. Should come. Or Voight should bring him. Or whatever."

Trudy gave him a thin smile at that and tucked the envelope a way a bit more protectively. "You're a good man, Christopher Hermann," she allowed.

He returned a thin smile and shrugged. "Nah, you know, I just remember what happened," he said and Trudy frowned so he just waved his hand like that would cause them both to forget what he was talking about.

But that made sense. Hermann thought Voight likely wanted to make most people forget it ever happened. But when something like that happens, it kinda gets seared into the whole consciousness of the first responder community whether you like it or not. Doesn't matter if you're FD or PD or EMT. You know. You hear about it. It all just becomes one of your own and the unimaginable about if that had happened to someone in your family. You don't even want to have to imagine it. But unfortunately those stories come up a few times in your career – it just is the way it is.

"It's Cindy who's a good woman," he said. "I'm just following orders."

"I'll make sure Hank gets the envelope," Trudy said.

Hermann nodded and started to move away from the desk. "And, you know, maybe make sure he knows that it doesn't have anything to do with me pestering him about that other thing." Trudy's eyes turned into a bit of a glare again. "He'll know what that means."

"I'm not passing him cryptic messages," she said bluntly. "You tell him that yourself."

He gave her a frown but nodded. "Yeah, sure. Fair enough," he allowed.

He started to walk away but turned back and gestured at her. "Just so you know, Mouch has one of those envelopes too. So, hope to see you there," he said and gave her a small wink. "Maybe, Voight knowing you've got him back will get him to actually show?"

She snorted and shook her head. "Don't hold your breath."

Hermann sure wasn't doing that. He actually thought that this might be a horrible idea. But he also felt bad for the kid. This was a good middle ground. Let Voight decide what was best for his kid now that the door was open. Hermann could appreciate that stance – even if he didn't quite get Hank Voight.

 **I don't think alerts went through for chapter 33 or 35 in case anyone missed them and wants to go back to read them.**


	37. Family Business

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Voight didn't even look at Halstead. He kept staring out the windshield, his hands still resting on the wheel.

They hadn't said anything on the drive. Voight had talked into his phone but not to the detective sitting next to him. Halstead hadn't made an effort to say anything to him either. Though, the guy had likely known something was up when Voight had told him he'd be riding with him. Halstead was likely less than thrilled. His body language clearly said as much. He'd been doing it best to gaze out the window and avoid any kind of eye contact on the entire drive over to the fucking stakeout. He'd been doing an ever better at making sure his eyes were glued on the massage parlor down the street now.

"You deal with IED much on your conveys in Afghanistan?" Voight finally rasped.

Halstead gave him the slightest glance. He was clearly trying to look at him out of the corner of his eye without actually looking at him. Voight turned to catch his eye more but that just made Halstead still his movements.

"Yeah. Why?" Halstead muttered under his breath.

Voight just nodded and ran his tongue along his teeth. "Ever have to deal with a kid getting themselves blown up?" he asked flatly.

Halstead let out a breath and cast him a glare. "I got the message, Sergeant," he said flatly.

"Mmm," Voight grunted and gave a little nod, gazing down the street a bit more. "Stuff with the kids sticks with you, doesn't it?" he muttered, giving him a glance. "All this compartmentalization crap. Fine. Good. But when it's kids just doesn't fit into those boxes quite as neatly."

Halstead gave him another small glance but that time Voight had already turned himself and was ready to catch his line of vision.

"I've seen kids in some sick situations. Shooting each other. Stabbing each other. Killing themselves with drugs and gangs. Get involved with these fucks who destroy them. But a kid spread across the road – in pieces – I've only done that once. With my own."

Halstead just shook his head. "You don't have to tell me this," he muttered.

Voight shrugged. "It's what you're on about, isn't it? What you want to hear? Need to fucking hear?"

Halstead cast him an accusing look. "I only was asking Lindsay about it because she's been distracted," he spat. "She's my partner. My friend—"

"That the technical name for it?" Voight put back to him.

Halstead shook his head frustratedly. Voight could feel the eye roll – but Halstead wasn't one to visibly roll his eyes. He was too much of a trained solider to do that.

"I was concerned," he said flatly. "That's all."

"Mmm," Voight allowed. "Sounds like you're very concerned about my family's business."

Halstead caught his eyes. "Yeah, seeing as you're asking me to drag my brother into your mess – maybe I was a little concerned."

Voight gazed at him. "So ask me," he put flatly. "Don't be doing this little dance of garnishing information from anyone with loose lips. Getting the fucking rumor mill going."

Halstead glared at him but then shifted his body angrily so he was looking at him in his seat. "What happened to your kid, Voight?"

Voight shrugged. "Think I was trying to tell you that before you got up on your high horse there," he said.

Halstead shook his head and went back to looking out his window with an even greater intensity. "You know, I don't want to know," he said. "I've definitely learned the less I know with you, the better. Just leave my brother out of it."

"That's not going to happen," Voight said and Halstead cast him a dirty look.

Voight drummed his fingers on the steering wheel for a moment.

"You know, cops don't like admitting when they've got any of that mental stuff on the job. Like we're somehow above it. Because we've gotta be," Voight said. "We can't have no pussies on this job. You either deal or you go do something else. And, OK, fine. I can suck up all the bad shit. Honestly, 99 per cent of it, it doesn't bother me. It just doesn't. If I'm doing my job right – seeing that shit, dealing with it – water off my back. I'll still sleep like a baby at night. But that night," Voight said and shook his head. "You know, I wasn't in shock. But I couldn't tell you what I remember about it. All these fucking little shots. Might as well be photos in an evidence folder."

Halstead gave him a glance and Voight looked at him. "I saw Camille," he said and rubbed at his chin and then gestured at the younger detective. "That's my wife. I remember seeing her. Or what was left of her. But I don't remember it. It's more the feeling. And, you know, at first, I thought Ethan was still in the car too. I couldn't see him but there wasn't much to see. Nothing that looked like people. And my head it's just this fucking … rapid fire … the realization that no, my son wasn't in the car. That blob on the road that all these fucking firefighters and EMTs are standing over – that's my boy. He just looked like this fucking … dirty blanket. Just this little bloody pile of material on the ground. So I'm starting to go over to it – to him – and I've got all these people holding me back – because it wasn't my little boy on the ground. It was just … these broken pieces of a human being."

Voight found the guy's eyes at that. "I didn't think he'd live. Fuck, I didn't think they'd be able to peel what was left of him off the road. When they did that, I didn't think we'd make it to the hospital. And then when they got him to the hospital, and the doctors rolled him into that ER operating theater – I didn't expect him to come out. Fuck, if he did come out, what kind of life was he going to have. How do you piece together that? How do you fucking come out of that as a functional human being? A vegetable, maybe. But a little boy? No."

Halstead looked away at that. But Voight just kept going.

"But, you know, what he did come out of that surgery. And then he went in for another and another and another," he said. "And, you know what, I'm just beside myself the whole fucking time. I'm losing my mind. This was not something I knew how to fix. I don't know how to be a single dad. I don't know how to raise a kid that's going to be in a coma for who knows how long. And if he didn't wake up? What the fuck do I do? But he did wake up. Ethan wasn't all there when he woke up. But he did wake up. And we spent months more in that fucking hospital. He had to learn to talk again. Walk again. Fucking breath on his own again. Seven," Voight stressed. "Seven years old. Now I think you know a thing or two about what a traumatic brain injury does to a person. I think I let you put your buddy downstairs – and he's a nice reminder of you can still have a life after something like this. But I think you've seen brain injury in adults. Grown men. Not a little boy.

"So let me tell you a bit what that's like as a parent. I had a child who woke up not knowing who I was. A kid who for almost two years after his mom was gone still couldn't remember his mom would gone and would ask me every day where she was. I had to teach a seven year old how to get his feet under him again. How to walk. How to run. How to fucking balance. How to read. He had to relearn how to take a fucking piss. I was changing diapers – on a seven year old. And this is a kid who was reading a four. Full books. Bedtime – I didn't have to read him a story. He read to me. He's in the fucking gifted program at school. Whatever the fuck that means when you're in the first grade. He knows the name of every fucking dinosaur known to men. Can point out on a map where every one of them is from. He's seven. He's playing Little League. He's swimming. We've got him on skates in the winter. He is a fucking shining star. And then this happens.

"OK, fine," Voight allows. "Life ain't fucking fair. We deal. I deal. We get through. Do I have the same kid as before that night? No. But I've still got my little boy. So we go on with life. Life throws my family some more fucking curveballs. The kids make some mistakes. I make some mistakes. And, you know what? I dropped the ball. I convinced myself that I'd gotten Ethan to a comfortable place. That he was fine. And I took my eyes off him. I fucked up.

"Now I've got a twelve year old who suddenly can't read. He can't write. He can't do math. He is agitated as fuck. The kid is nearly crawling out of his skin half the time. So I take him to the doctor and say what the fuck? And they go, 'Mmm, maybe he hit his head harder than we thought. We should look into that again.' So I don't know what the fuck is going on. But I know I'm looking at my kid and I'm losing my mind again because this is not normal. And I'm not going to sit around with my thumb up my ass waiting until they get us in front of some fucking specialist who's just going to schedule some tests and we get stuck in a fucking waiting game. I want answers. I want answers yesterday."

Voight nodded at Halstead. "I'm not asking miracles out of your brother," he said. "I'm seeing if he can pull some strings to get us on a cancellation list. Maybe a few spots up the cancellation list so I'm no sitting here losing my mind for weeks until we get in front of these dickwads. I will drop what I am doing and get my son in there on this phone call. I fucked up. That's on me. Not Ethan. And, if your brother's got any thoughts on any of these shrinks or specialists or therapists or who-the-fuck-ever I can get the ball rolling on one of these evaluation reports so I can make sure he's getting the help he needs when school starts up again – I'd appreciate that. Because I don't want to be sitting around waiting for the fucking school to get that in place for him."

Voight sighed and looked out the window again. "Ethan's dealt with a lot of shit. Things that aren't his fault that he's just had to deal with. Things that would have grown men crying in their beers. And he's just sucked it up. He's a good kid. And this isn't just going to be another situation he has to deal with."

Voight saw a couple men walk toward the building and Olinsky and Ruzek got out of their car and started to follow after them. Voight jutted his chin and reached for the door.

"Let's move," he said.

He wasn't sure how much listening Halstead had done for him. If he could even fully understand where he was coming from. He didn't have kids of his own. He hadn't been there. And as much as he thought he could understand – Voight knew that you never truly understood until you had kids of your own. Until you had that helpless little ball of pink and flailing legs screaming at you. Until you realized it was yours – and your responsibility – until death did you part. Thing was the death did you part was supposed to be yours – not the kids. And as soon as you got a glimpse that it could be your kid who goes first – you just fight tooth and nail against it. You put it all on the line for your kids. You drove yourself into the dirt if necessary.

He reached for the door and gave Halstead a last glance. "Set up a meeting for me with your brother – and you can set up the paintball too," Voight said.

Halstead gaped at him and started to almost try to stutter something out.

Voight just shook his head. "Don't tell Ruzek anything you don't want the world to know," he said. "Just don't talk to him unless you want the entire block to hear the conversation."

He slammed the door and started to walk around the car, glancing at Halstead who was still staring at him.

"Give it a few weeks," he said. "Let his ribs mend before you start pummelling him with shit."


	38. Pinball Machine

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

"You're just going to feel a pinch, Ethan," the technician said, still manhandling the boy's arm.

Erin sat next to him on the gurney, rubbing at his back. He looked so small dressed in the hospital gown. Ethan hadn't let her or his dad help him tie the back and apparently hadn't figured out to tie it before hand and pull it on like a tshirt or to pull the ties around to the front to tie after he got it on. So instead his little boney ass clad in his florescent striped briefs was hanging out. That and his socked feet were the only clothes he'd been allowed to keep on. He looked slightly disheveled and embarrassed about it all.

She glanced at Hank. He was standing just watching. His arms crossed in careful examination of everything that was going on – every step of the process.

Hank had been like that all morning. Rather intimidating. Which was one thing for the medical staff, but it wasn't exactly comforting for Ethan either. It made Erin glad she'd decided to take the day off too. Hank had said 'no'. But she hadn't listened. Because fuck him. Ethan was her baby brother. And, she thought both of them likely needed her there more than they wanted to admit.

She didn't know what Hank had said to Will. Jay claimed it'd been short. That he'd been there. He'd insisted on that. Erin suspected that it was unlikely that Jay would ever let Hank near his brother alone again after what had happened in April. Jay had a way of being rather overprotective too.

But at least she knew that nothing got held over anyone. Both Hank and Jay had confirmed that much. Nothing was promised or threatened. She was glad for that. The boat didn't need to be rocked. But she also knew that in some way things had been promised or threatened. In an underlying kind of way. Someone always owed someone something. Someway. Some how. Definitely when it came to Hank. Just how that played out in the future? That was a different story.

She was trying not to think about it too much because Jay had said that it hadn't turned out to be that big of deal for Will to put in a call about the cancellation list and to see if there were any unforeseen openings. He'd started doing that at the beginning and end of each of his shifts. It had taken all of three days for him to snag a slot for Ethan. They would've been waiting weeks otherwise. Stressing and worrying to even get in and have the initial tests ordered. But with Will's help – Jay's help – here they were now.

They weren't getting everything done that day. But it was enough to get the ball rolling. Enough to start getting some answers. That was all that mattered at that point.

At least then they'd have some glimpse of what they were dealing with. They could hopefully put some fears to rest and start focusing on reality.

Still, Erin had felt like they were in a fucking pinball machine that morning. Registration and check-in and waiting rooms. It was giving her flashbacks to the first two years after the 'accident'. She could only begin to imagine what it was doing to Ethan.

She didn't have to imagine too much. She'd had her hand on his back since nearly when they'd gotten out of the vehicle. He was so tense. So stiff. She could feel his heart pounding right through his back.

Ethan had been skittish in the hospital. Just agitated and restless. Hyper alert. He was clearly having a PTSD episode – which made fucking sense – but they'd been instructed not to give him his medication that morning, which she hated. So instead they had a little boy who was under a great deal of stress and teetering.

First he'd had this series of vision tests. They'd bounced him from room after room. He'd come out from one nearly glowing – or at least as close to glowing as he could get at a hospital – and told them it'd been like a videogame. He'd been less enthused about some of the other tests. The ones where they'd put drops in his eyes – which he complained burned. Then he complained more that everything was fuzzy and he felt funny.

Erin was pretty sure he'd failed one of the vision-oriented tests. That was bad. But she also almost felt better about it. Part of her kept grasping at straws that maybe there really wasn't something wrong with his head. He just needed glasses. She knew she was kidding herself. But sometimes you needed to hold onto a delusion.

They'd been showing Ethan a series of colors and dots and cards and he clearly wasn't registering much of anything when he was looking at them. Hank had barked at them at one point about what they were asking Ethan to read when his son didn't seem to have much reading or visual comprehension at the moment. Of course he was going to fail the test, Hank had pointed out. He'd stopped them at another point and ordered them to give Ethan more time to recognize and process the various letters and numbers. That had seemed to help a bit on some of the charts and cards. But on others that were clearly directed at something a bit more than his clarity of sight, the extra time didn't seem to be doing much.

After they'd gotten through that they'd had Ethan in for endless questions with a resident. The kid had been playing mute, which resulted in Erin and Hank trying to answer the questions for him – as much as they could seeing as they hadn't had daily interaction with him for nearly two years.

Erin could just see Hank becoming more and more pissed off during it. She knew it was mostly at himself –his inability to provide what was likely fairly basic information about the status of Ethan's cognitive abilities and balance and coordination and when they started to notice changes and what kind of changes and his mental and emotional well-being. Only those are tough questions to answer when you are just talking to the kid on the telephone and seeing him on weekend visits every six weeks or so.

Some of the line of questioning resulted in the resident getting given attitude by Hank. Ethan got barked at by his dad to talk to the doctor. That just made Ethan get quieter and quieter. Erin was fairly certain the resident had been scribbling down they were aggressive, non-cooperative and some kind of absentee family that were unfit to care for a child with brain damage. But she was likely thinking worst-case scenario at that point. And, really, even if something like that did get written down and pursued that was definitely the kind of thing that Hank would be able to whip into order – and bury – in a heartbeat. So it wasn't worth getting too worked up about.

It'd been hard to watch Ethan's physical exam after that, though. Some of it was fairly standard. Them taking his vitals and tapping and poking and prodding. But she'd watched as he clearly struggled with some of the balance and coordination tests. It was strange because in his day-to-day life she hadn't noticed any of it really. Ethan had a bit of a gait. But Hank had a gait – that walk like he already had something up his ass. Just the bulldog. Beyond that, Ethan's one leg was so full of metal and screws that it was barely a human leg that existed under the flesh anymore. They'd always been just thankful that Ethan was put back together enough that he was able to walk. Not just that but run and play. He needed that. He was an active kid and with his restlessness and agitation, if he wasn't out playing something – doing his sports – he was crawling out of his skin around them. She hadn't spent a lot of time analyzing just how he walked – beyond thinking it must be normal for him. But that morning some of it didn't look quite so normal when watching it in slow motion and seeing him struggle to follow simple instructions when it involved more co-ordinated and minute efforts to move his joints or muscles and extremities in a specific way.

It wasn't like Ethan was falling over or all over himself but it was obvious some things he wasn't doing properly. Or he wasn't seeing. He was missing marks. He wasn't reacting. He was stumbling ever so slightly. And, there'd been visible wincing in the boy as they manipulated some of his joints. There'd been another instance where the doctor was touching his toes – out of Ethan's sight – and he didn't seem to even know he was being manipulated. And when he'd been asked to move his feet in a certain position, it was like he couldn't get them to move but like the boy seemed to think he was.

Hank just kept pulling at his chin and casting her looks. But what could they say? Nothing in front of Ethan. She didn't even know what they'd say when they got a chance to talk when Ethan was asleep that night. She wasn't even sure she wanted to talk about it yet. She didn't want to have a discussion until she knew what they were actually talking about – until she'd heard it from the horse's mouth. Until they had the results from the doctor. And that wasn't going to be today.

They'd then ended up sitting around waiting for Ethan to get some blood work done and for him to piss into a bottle. They'd had to wait for the results but apparently whatever they'd needed to look at immediately allowed (or necessitated) him getting his MRI done that day too. That news hadn't gone over well with Ethan. He hadn't been allowed to eat breakfast. At that point it was almost lunch. He was overwhelmed and he was hungry. He wanted to leave.

He'd done some rather vocal whining at Hank where he'd sounded even more like a little boy. But he'd known that some things weren't going well. He sensed it too. He knew in his own head things were off even before they got to the hospital. He'd likely known for months and months but hadn't wanted to admit it to his family. Thankfully Hank hadn't been too harsh with him while he was having his minor meltdown. But it'd been very clear that they weren't going anywhere until the MRI was done.

Erin felt Ethan flinch even more as the technician shoved the line into his little arm. A flash of blood filling the tubing. The plastic casing looked huge against his forearm. She just rubbed at his back more while the tubing got taped into place.

"OK," the tech said. "It shouldn't be too long. Someone will be out to get you."

And then she was gone, pulling the curtain closed – leaving them alone for the moment.

Ethan reached and picked at the tape holding all these tubes from the line they'd be injecting the contrast through. Erin reached and pulled his hand away.

"Eth, don't do that," she scolded gently.

"It feels weird the way she put it," he protested and pulled his wrist out of her hand.

"Ethan, she put it that way for a reason," she said more firmly and grabbed at his wrist to still it.

"It's pulling. It hurts," he protested.

He was so fucking agitated at that point. It was like dealing with a toddler who was way past his nap time and you knew he just had to lay down before he imploded. But that wasn't likely to happen just yet. She could wish that he'd nap through his MRI – but with all that noise, not likely.

"Listen to your sister," Hank said firmly, crossing his arms and rocking slightly on his heels.

Ethan gave him a pathetic look. "I'm hungry," he said again – for about the twentieth time.

"Yea," Hank acknowledged. "And the nurse said you'd get some juice after this."

"Can't we just go after?" he whined even louder.

Hank cast his eyes downward until he caught the boy's eyes. "After this you piss in a cup for them again, drink your juice, let them do a blood draw – and if they're happy, we can go."

Ethan huffed. "And then I can eat?"

"Then you can eat," Hank allowed.

"How much longer?" Ethan demanded.

Hank gave the bridge of his nose a small squeeze. Erin could tell he was tired too – or just frustrated with how the day had been going. Hank hated being in the hospital too. It didn't exactly bring back positive memories for him either. It didn't for any of them.

"I don't know," he muttered. "This scan is supposed to take about forty minutes she said."

"But then we have to do the other stuff?" Ethan huffed.

"Yea," Hank spat and caught his son's eyes again. "We do. So we're likely going to be here at least a couple more hours, bud. So suck it up."

Ethan flared his nostrils at that and went back to picking at the tape. Erin grabbed at his hand again.

"Eth, why don't you lie down and try to rest a bit until they come get you?" she suggested.

He cast her a glare. "No," he said firmly.

She just held his eyes. "OK," she put back just as firmly. "You don't have to give me attitude about it."

The curtain pulled back and a male technician stood looking at a clipboard. "Ethan Voight," he said and then examined Ethan for a moment and cast his eyes to Hank instead. It was clearly Hank who was in charge in the room. His demeanor always gave that vibe off.

"Yeah," Hank allowed and nodded at the kid.

"OK," he said. "We're ready for you."

Ethan gave her a nervous look, so Erin just gave him a small smile and pushed herself off the gurney, sticking out her hand.

"C'mon," she encouraged.

He let out a little sigh but took her hand and let himself slide down to the ground. He could be such a little boy sometimes. She wondered how much longer that would last. Sometimes it seemed like he'd had most of the little kid knocked out of him and then there were the times – the days – where it was just so clear he was still a kid. He had a lot of growing up to do. He needed them. Their support. Love. To tell him it was going to be alright – even if it meant they were lying to him.

Hank just nodded for them to go first and he took up the rear as the tech lead them through a short maze of corridors with rooms off them full of flashing lights and loud sounds of the magnets pulsing to take the layer-by-layer pictures of people's insides. Ethan gripped at her hand more tightly. Almost too tightly. He definitely had some good strength in his hands at least.

The tech pounded on a button and a door swung open. But then he gestured back down the hall.

"Waiting room is back out that way," he said.

Ethan gaped upward at that - first looking at her and then searching frantically behind him. "No!" he protested. "I want my dad."

The tech let out a sigh and looked at Hank. "Take off the boots and you can come in while I get him set up. But I can't have you guys in here during the scan."

Hank gave a small nod in acknowledgement. Erin was almost surprised at that. She almost expected him to argue. To say he at least wanted to be in the control room with the technicians. But she also knew that getting Ethan's MRI had been Hank's biggest priority. He likely wasn't going to say or do anything that would jeopardize getting Ethan on that table right then. And, he definitely wasn't going to do anything that might somehow compromise the results.

He bent to unlace his boots but the tech again gestured at Ethan. "I can get you started," he said.

But Ethan just huddled closer to Erin, wrapping his one arm around her waist like he could somehow use her as an anchor.

"Why can't Erin come too?" he almost whimpered.

The tech sighed. "We don't need extra people tracking in and out of here," he muttered and entered the room himself to start prepping.

Erin just gave Ethan a little smile and wrapped her arm around his shoulder, giving it a little squeeze and a little shake. "It's fine, Eth," she assured. "Your dad will get you settled. I'll wait right here and then we'll just be down there until the nurse comes gets us. No big deal."

He made a small noise that clearly indicated he didn't agree. But it didn't much matter. It wasn't exactly a topic open for debate.

Hank rose and held out his big, heavy dirty boots at her. She took them with her free hand. The things weighed a ton.

He gripped at Ethan's shoulder. "C'mon," he ordered. "Let's go."

Ethan let out a defeated sigh and cast her another sad look but unwrapped himself and let his dad guide him into the big bay. Erin stood at the open door and just watched.

The technician pointed at the table. "Sit up there," he said.

Ethan cast Hank a glance but moved and sat down. Hank gave him as near as he could get to a tender grimace as he could manage and patted at his shoulder. The tech handed him earplugs and nodded at Ethan. Hank worked them in his fingers a bit and then handed the first one to his boy.

"In your ear," Hank said evenly.

Another little noise from the kid but he reached and pressed it into his ear. Hank reached and tilted his head a bit, examining the job he'd done. Apparently he wasn't satisfied because his finger poked delicately at Ethan's ear before he shifted his attention to working the earplug still in his fingers a bit more. He seemed to feel the need to get it squished down more before trying to ram it in Ethan's opposite ear.

"I don't wanna do this, Dad," Ethan whined.

Hank didn't even look at him. "It's just an MRI, Magoo," he said. "You've dealt with worse."

"But I don't wanna," Ethan said again.

His eyes did find the kid's at that. "There's lots of things in life we've got to do that we don't want to do," Hank said firmly and then clutched at his boy's chin and almost scientifically pressed the opposite earplug in. Ethan pawed a bit at his ear after it was done to make it a bit more comfortable.

"You lie still and do as you're told," Hank said. "We don't want to have to come back and do all this bullshit again, do we?"

"No," Ethan agreed quietly.

Hank gave him a solid nod and patted at his shoulder again and glanced to find the tech.

"You can just lie back," the tech said.

Ethan let out a slow breath but listened. The tech looping a head covering over the boy's head as he did – making him look more like he was going into surgery than an MRI tube. His boy was miscue on the large tray. It must've been upsetting for Hank to look at too – too many memories – because he actually found Ethan's hand and gripped at it. He was only allowed to a moment, though. The tech tucked some padding under Ethan's knees and then pulled a blanket up over him. Erin knew Hank hated that movement too. She did it took. It always felt like it was going to be a sheet pulled up over a body. Like something bad was being covered up.

"I need to put the cage over his head," the technician said.

Hank nodded but Erin had known him long enough to see the moment's hesitance in him as he gazed at his boy. Hank had more of a soft spot for Ethan than he let on. He did for all his kids. His family. It was a wonder it didn't get used against him more often. But maybe it was because everyone seemed to know what happened to people who crossed his family. Just what kind of lengths he'd take to protect and look after his own. How far out there he'd put himself.

Hank patted at Ethan's cheek. "You're going to be OK, Magoo," he said. "We'll see you in a bit."

"Yea," Ethan allowed meekly.

Hank gave a thin smile. Erin wasn't sure how reassuring it was. But she did know from experience that even though Hank's facial expressions weren't always the most reassuring – the fact he was there was. Sometimes Hank gave you a bit of an invincible feeling. He was your flak jacket when all hell was flying at you. It didn't matter that he didn't much know how to smile. Him being there counted for more than that.

Hank took a small step back and the tech stepped forward, locking this mask over top of Ethan's face. He looked somewhere between a goalie and Hannibal Lecter. Then the man shoved a little bulb into the boy's hand.

"Squeeze that if there's a problem," the tech said. He clearly wasn't very kid friendly.

He stepped up to the panel and pressed a button. The tray slowly started to move.

"Just close your eyes, Ethan," Hank said. "You're going to be fine." His hand patting at his son's leg as he disappeared into the tube. He gave the boy's foot a final squeeze as the tech clearly nodded for him to leave. "OK, E," he called. "Your sister and I are just going to be right down the hall. We'll see you in a few."

His hand stayed on the boy even as he walked away and he had to drop it away. Erin caught Hank's eyes as he joined her outside the door, it swinging shut as he exited. Ethan disappeared from sight.

Hank met her eyes briefly – but they had that sad and haunted look it sometimes got. There was fight in them. Anger. But a deep sadness. This sense of failure. But then he just rubbed harshly at his face in three quick scrubs and then reached and took his boots out of her hand and padded still sock-footed down the hall. Leaving her standing there looking after him and then gazing at the door as the chirping and clicking echoes of the MRI machine started behind them.

She hoped that they weren't lying to Ethan when they were telling him he was going to be fine. That it was going to be OK.


	39. Best Movie Ever

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

"But, Dad—" Ethan full on whined, gazing up at his dad with big, hopeful eyes.

But Hank just cast him a shut-it-down look. "You aren't getting the fucking dinosaur cup," Hank rasped at him.

"But, it's so cool," Ethan tried again.

Hank gave him an even more impressed look. "No," he said firmly.

Ethan made an unimpressed noise and did the sulking that only a twelve year old could pool off. That over-practiced pout that reminded you that pre-teen tantrums weren't that far removed from dealing with a pre-schooler tantrum. Though, Ethan mostly just sulked and pouted. He didn't dare throw a tantrum with Hank. Because if there was any dad who could pull off the "I'll really give you something to cry about line" – and you wouldn't want to test it – it was Hank.

"Here," Hank grunted at him as the concession clerk returned and put two of the least appetizing hot dogs Erin had ever seen on the counter. He shoved them toward Ethan. "Go get these done up," he ordered and pointed off to the condiment counter.

Ethan near gleefully retrieved them. "Don't forget the popcorn, Dad," Ethan informed him as he gathered the 'lunch'.

"I'm getting the fucking popcorn," Hank muttered.

"My own," Ethan ordered and gave Hank a look.

But Hank just locked his eyes. "You're sharing with your sister."

Ethan flared his nostrils. "She doesn't like butter!" he protested.

Erin just scrubbed at his hair. "I like butter. I don't like butter with a side of popcorn," she said and nudged him to get rid of him. "Stop pissing off your dad. Go."

Hank shook his head as the kid left and gestured at the cash register displaying the prices with the bills he already had folded in his hand waiting for the concession kid to come and retrieve. "Might as well have bought him that new bike for how much this is costing me," he muttered.

Erin just shrugged. "Your idea, Hank," she put flatly.

He just grunted and glanced over his shoulder to check on Ethan. Erin looked too. The nervous energy was radiating off him.

"Sit with him in the house like that," Hank said and grunted again looking back to the concession. She could tell he was getting pissed off at how long it was taking the poor kid tasked with tending to them to gather their order. But that's what happened when you were feeding a famished twelve-year-old boy at a movie theater concession stand. He wanted to buy out the shop. Not that Hank was letting him. They had ordered enough, though.

"You're going to sit with him in a theater like that," Erin said. Ethan was near bouncing over there. He seemed overwhelmed by the disgusting choices available at the condiment counter. Items that had at least been sitting there all day – if not days.

"He'll sit still and shut up once the dinosaurs get on the screen," Hank muttered.

She snorted and smiled at him and he gave a look. She just shook her head. "I think you've been saying that since he was about two," she allowed.

"Mmm," Hank just made a face. "If it works, it works."

"Yeah. You got a sit down and shut up list for me and Justin too?" she teased.

"Yea," he grunted. "I tell you to sit down and shut the fuck up."

She rolled her eyes and glanced over at Ethan again. He was eating something now. She wasn't sure if he was already stuffing one of the hotdogs into his face or if he was shoving pickles or jalapeños or relish into his mouth. Disgusting whatever the option.

"Could've just dropped him off at the house," she allowed.

Hank shook his head. "Couldn't leave him alone right now. He's all …" Hank just shook his head without trying to apply words for it. He didn't need to say anyways. Erin knew. She could see it too.

The exhaustion and stress of the day combined with not getting full doses of medication into Ethan's system at the proper time had him in a complete tizzy. It was hard to watch. Harder to be around. Hopefully Hank was right that he'd calm after he got in front of his movie. Though, she still thought it might've been smarter to just take him home, make him a meal of a bit more substance than hot dogs and popcorn, get his pills into him and to try to get him to rest. But Hank likely didn't want to be stuck in four walls with him while he was tripping out like this. His exhaustion and patience was clearly at opposite extremes too.

"Here," Hank said and handed her the giant bag of popcorn that Ethan seemed to think he'd be able to eat. He better – because she wasn't that interested in it and Hank and junk food rarely went together. She was surprised he even ordered a hot dog – especially here. He must be hungry too. "You're in charge of this."

She nodded and took it, moving to wander over to the condiment table with Ethan. She'd let him put in a squirt of butter – not make it swim in it. Though, she'd have to stop him when he decided he wanted to sprinkle every fucking shaker topping in existence on it – to the point that it didn't taste like anything but sour salt paste lining your insides. Disgusting. Beyond disgusting. And she'd clearly endured this definition of "going to the movies" before. Put it in the con column of having a baby brother.

"You might want to order him a hot dog," she said as she turned to go.

Hank glanced over his shoulder again from finally prepping to pay the concession kid.

"I got him a hot dog," he said. "We got them already."

"Pretty sure he's eaten his already," Erin said and gestured.

"Jesus Fuck," Hank said under his breath and gestured at the concession kid, giving him a little nod. The kid let out a small sigh. He clearly wanted to be rid of them too.

"Told you you should've got him two," Erin said flatly. "He told you too."

"At these prices?" Hank barked. "It's not even a hot dog."

Erin just shrugged at him and started to move again but he smacked a bottle of water into her chest. She reached and took it while, Hank shoved his hand into the pocket of his leather jacket and then shook a pill bottle at her.

"See if you can get one into him since he's apparently got food in his belly already," he said.

Erin nodded and took it wandering over to the counter. She stood next to Ethan, dropping the large popcorn on the countertop and then worked at opening the bottle.

"Hey, Eth, your dad wants you to take one of these now," she said and held out the pill to him in the palm of her hand, nudging the bottle of water toward him. But the kid didn't move. He actually had suddenly gotten really still. About the stillest he'd been all day. Certainly the stillest he'd been since they'd pulled him out of the MRI machine.

Erin gazed at him for a moment and then followed his eyes. He was staring at a little red-headed girl with braids and freckles at the opposite condiment stand. She was standing and carefully putting small squirts of butter into the side of her popcorn bag and then shaking and tilting it before adding another little dribble. She was nervously giving Ethan shy glances from her efforts.

Erin smiled at seeing the girl, though. It wasn't just some random stranger. The little girl lived down the street from Hank. Ethan likely knew that too, but his memory could sometimes be questionable. So she nudged at his side with hers.

"It's Holly Prokop," Erin whispered.

"I know," Ethan said with a clear annoyance. His eyes didn't move from the girl at all. It was actually a little creepy.

"Don't stare," Erin said at a more normal level. "You don't like when people stare. Go say hi."

Ethan did cast her a glare at that and firmly shook his head no.

"Why not?" Erin asked.

He gave her an even more annoyed look and just snagged the pill from her hand and cracked the cap on the water, taking a long chug to wash down the little pill. Maybe Hank should've bought more water too.

By the time he'd finished taking the pill the choice about whether or not to approach the girl had passed – because now Holly Prokop and her mother were standing on the opposite side of their counter. The mother was smiling widely. Erin attempted to fake one back. OK, maybe she could understand where Ethan was coming from after all.

"Hi Erin," the mom – Bernice – greeted overly cheerily. Erin was sure they were perfectly nice people. A nice family. She didn't know them that well – beyond seeing them around. But they'd moved in about the time she was starting in at the academy and she wasn't hanging around Hank and Camille's quite as much. Not that she thought they'd put a ton of effort into getting to know them. Well, maybe Camille had. Because that was Camille. But Hank wouldn't have – and definitely wouldn't have since Camille was gone.

"Hi Bernice," Erin allowed. She just so didn't deal well with chirpy, cheery people. It reminded her too much of her time at St. Ignatius and people judging her. Feeling like she had to hide who she was – for face the wrath of the Mean Girls.

"We never see you around anymore!" Bernice added like that was some sort of atrocity.

Erin just shrugged. "You know … work …" she said flatly.

"Oh, that's OK," Bernice said and gave a dismissive wave. Erin didn't know what was OK. It was like Bernice thought she'd given some sort of apology. "We never see Hank either. I swear he never has the lights on in there."

"Hmm," Erin allowed. "Well, you know … he works too."

Bernice nodded heartily at that. "Oh, of course," she said but her eyes had completely shifted to Ethan. Erin watched her carefully – waiting for the stare that her baby brother got too many times, no matter how many times people had seen his scarring. That stare that she knew all of them did as much as they could do deflect and end for him when they were with him – because people were obnoxious and rude. "And Ethan?!" she added overly excitedly then. "You remember Holly?" she said and nudged her daughter forward.

"Yea," Ethan said but looked down bashfully.

"Are you home for the summer?" Bernice asked happily.

"Yea, I guess," Ethan mumbled.

"Oh, that's fun," Bernice pressed onward. "And spending time with Erin?" she asked, stating the obvious casting a look to her. "Going to a movie?" It was about the dumbest question ever. Did she think they were there for the hot dogs and the social opportunities?

"Yea," Ethan mumbled again. "Are you?" he asked cautiously, casting Holly a little look.

The little girl eyed him. Erin got the sense she might be staring at Ethan's scars more than Bernice had – especially now that she was up close. She knew kids did that. They were going to do that. Kids were curious. But it still bothered Erin – because she knew how kids could be. She hadn't had scars like Ethan but she'd definitely been such a mark in her unkempt and unlaundered clothes and not to mention the rather frequent lack of running water, heat or hydro in her home growing up and what that did for her personal hygiene and cleanliness. She knew what it was like to be under another child's microscope. She found herself taking a small step closer to her baby brother – protectively. He'd been through enough that day and who knows what might set him off.

"We're seeing Inside Out," Holly said softly.

Ethan just gazed at her. "That's a kids movie," he said with some accusation to it. It was a definite unfriendly tone.

Erin sighed and looked down at him. Her sympathy and protectiveness dimmed a little bit.

"It's not," Holly protested. "It's Pixar."

Ethan just looked at her. Erin could sense how unimpressed he was with the other child's movie choice.

"Oh, it's getting great reviews," Bernice injected, apparently also sensing the sudden distaste between the kids and trying to defuse it. "What are you seeing?"

"Jurassic World," Ethan put firmly, almost glaring at the girl across from him.

Erin nudged at him harder to try to get him to calm down, be polite and behave. She almost wanted to tell these people he was off his meds just to give him an excuse for being a jerk. But maybe they were used to it. After all, they did live a few doors down from Hank. It wasn't like he was a sociable ray of sunshine either. What could they expect from his kids?

"Oh, are you still into dinosaurs then?" Bernice started, glowing a bit. "I remember when your mom—"

She was cut off. Quickly. "Bernice," Hank droned behind them. Erin giving him a glance.

He drilled his eyes into the woman. Hank didn't like people speaking about his wife. And, he almost definitely didn't want anyone bringing up memories of her to Ethan in those moments. It upset him. It was worse if they hit on a memory that he couldn't remember that he thought he should be able to. There wasn't any better way to send him into a meltdown. After the day they'd had, Hank – nor Erin – would want to deal with that.

Bernice just smiled at him. "Oh, it's a real family outing," she said friendly. Though, Erin had seen her face change a bit with Hank's presence. Again, he wasn't ever a ray of sunshine.

Hank didn't respond, though. He just put another hot dog on the counter and tapped at Ethan's shoulder. Ethan examined him for a moment and then picked up the food, getting it doctored the way he wanted.

"Well, you all should come over one night for a barbecue this summer," Bernice said. "Since Ethan's home. It's been so long since the kids have played together."

"Mmm," Hank grunted.

That was likely as close to an acknowledgement of the invitation as the woman was ever going to get. Hank didn't do friendly neighbor. If he wanted to associate with you – he was associating with you. These people weren't on the list. They might've been on Camille's list when Ethan and Holly were in pre-school. But now? Under Hank's watch? No.

"OK," Bernice said after examining his lax face and clearly getting the message. "Well, it was nice to see you. Enjoy your movie."

"Mmm," Hank allowed again.

But Holly gave Ethan another shy smile. "Bye, Ethan," she said.

He gave her a glance from his hot dog. "Bye," he said quietly.

The little girl gave them another glance as she walked away with her mom, her and Ethan again catching eyes.

Erin smiled a bit as she caught it and teasingly pushed his head. "Hey, Hot Stuff," she teased.

Ethan just glared at her but she just smiled. She liked when she saw the little moments of normalcy for him. That's what she wanted for him. A normal, boring, mundane childhood. If he could manage that at this point.

"OK, c'mon," Hank said. "We aren't trawling some street corner here."

He nudged them both toward the entrance into the auditoriums' corridor. As he handed the ticket attendant the tickets, the guy returned their stubs, holding out plastic glasses to each of them. Ethan excitedly took his pair that restlessness in him starting to bubble again. But Hank just shook his head and kept walking, the attendant giving him a strange look. Erin sighed and held out her hand to take Hank's pair from the kid.

"Hank, you need the glasses," she said and slapped them into his chest.

He reached and took them, looking at the plastic packaging. "We don't need three pairs of these kicking around the house," he said and held them back at her.

Ethan glanced back at him from his hasty pace in front of them. "You give 'em back after the movie, Dad," he said.

He looked at them. "Then what's the point of handing them out," he muttered.

Erin looked at him. "Hank, when exactly is the last time you've been to a movie?"

He cast her a glare. "When's the last time you and Justin made me take you to a show?"

She let out a little sound. "You've been to a movie since then," she said.

He shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets, and looking up into the seats of the theater. They had the place almost to themselves. But it was the middle of the day on a weekday. Even though it was summer vacation for the kids it wasn't exactly a high traffic timeslot. Ethan was already setting the pace up the stairs, making a beeline for the "perfect" spot. Erin was familiar with this song-and-dance – because maybe Hank was telling the truth, maybe he hadn't been to a show since her and Justin were still wanting or needing dad to drive them to a show. Because Erin was pretty familiar with Ethan's necessity of sitting in the exact right spot – and God forbid someone was already sitting in it. She'd taken him to a lot of movies over the years. Big sister pro or big sister con? She wasn't sure. She supposed it depended on what movie was forced to endure.

She sighed and held the glasses back to him as they mounted the stairs. "They're 3D glasses," she said.

Hank looked at them again as he claimed the seat next to Ethan and sat down. "3D glasses?"

"The movie is in 3D," Ethan declared excitedly. He already had the things on his face and looked at Hank – a bit grin taking up his whole face. "Put them on, Dad!"

Hank looked at the plastic things in his hands and Erin nudged at his elbow with hers. "Yeah, put them on Hank," she said and put on her glasses, shooting him a look.

He made a clearly unimpressed noise and glared at the things more but then unfolded the arms and put them on his face – looking straight ahead. Erin leaned forward in her chair and bent her neck to look at him. A smile tugged at her face and she let out a small laugh.

Hank crossed his arms, settling back in his chair. He didn't look like anyone who should ever be sitting in a movie theater – let alone while wearing 3D glasses.

"Nice look, Tough Guy," Erin teased.

He just grunted.

Ethan leaned forward and looked at his dad too. Apparently he didn't see anything wrong with the picture or remotely funny. He just leaned farther over his dad, grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bag on her lap, spilling some of it in his dad's lap and it pulled it back to him. Hank brushed absently at getting the kernels off his legs and Erin plopped the whole bag in his lap instead. He gave her a dirty look at that.

"You're sitting in the middle," she said flatly. "You get to hold the bag."

"Mmm," Hank mumbled. "Pretty sure I'm always stuck holding the bag."

Erin smiled. Always the ray of sunshine, he was.

"This is going to be the best movie ever," Ethan declared, his mouth stuffed with popcorn.

"Don't talk with your mouthful," Hank ordered. "Be quiet, sit still, watch the movie."

Ethan cast him a look but settled back in his seat, taking another handful of popcorn in one hand and stuffing his face with his second hot dog with the other.

It definitely didn't look like it was going to be the best movie ever for Hank. But Erin was starting to think this looked like a pretty decent afternoon to her. She held up her phone.

"Hank …" she said.

He glanced at her. She snapped a picture and grinned at him. If looks could kill. But she ignored it.

"Very James Dean," she told him, flashing the screen at him briefly.

He grabbed the phone from her.

"Don't delete it," she told him firmly – now giving him the evil eye. She'd learned from the best.

"No phones in the theater," he said flatly and shoved it into his pocket.


	40. No Cowardice

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

"So there goes your 'he never misses work' theory," Halstead said flatly.

Erin glanced up at him from picking at her meal and reached to grab her drinking, shaking her head before giving it a small sip. "I said he's never sick and he's never late. He takes time off work. Occasionally."

Jay examined her. "And the place didn't fall apart without him," he provided.

She snorted and looked back to her plate. "I don't think he quite feels that way. He's in there today checking out what you suckers did without supervision."

"What?" Jay said seeming genuinely surprised. "Why?"

She shrugged. "It's Voight."

Jay made an unimpressed sound. Like Hank had just betrayed their confidence by going in on a Saturday when they weren't scheduled or hadn't been called. But it really was just Voight. He lived at the place. He might as well set up a cot in his office. Really one of many positives of Ethan being home might be that Hank would work less. Partially because he was being forced to. But he really did need to spend a little less time at the office.

Reality – whether any of them wanted to admit it or not – was that part of the reason they were in any of the mess they were in with their family history, was that a lot of it had happened because of Hank's work and because he was busy with work most of the time. That wasn't to say that he didn't care about his family. Or that he was a bad dad or wasn't a family man. It just said that he had a higher purpose. He had competing priorities. And, because of that his family had also made scarifies – just like him – and they'd experienced the brunt of some of the complications and tragedies because of it. But that was something they were all aware of. They didn't need to really verbalize it. Though, it'd be something that Ethan would throw in Hank's face eventually. Likely in his late-teens or early-20s. Justin sure as hell had. Erin … well … she saw things a little differently.

Even though Erin looked at it through different lens, though, she knew the necessity for him to be home more anymore. Or at least working at shifting and balancing his priorities in a different way. She could tell he was working at it. But it was going to take time. The fact he'd decided to spend his Saturday at work – rather than with Ethan – was a pretty good indication of that. Hopefully he wouldn't stay there the whole day doing whatever it was he did there when he was alone. Though, even if he wasn't at the office he'd likely be out roaming the streets touching base with some of his contacts and network. He probably was starting to feel jumpy that he'd been too out of sight the past couple weeks. But again – that was just Voight. It was what it was.

"So did they tell you anything yesterday?" Jay asked and gave her a serious look – one with underlying concern. She'd known it was only a matter of time until he asked. It was the fairly obvious motivation for asking her out for breakfast. She'd sort of hoped that him calling with 'wanna grab a coffee' had been lame code. But it hadn't been. They were literally having coffee. Apparently he only did innuendo with boardgames.

She shrugged. "Not really. It was just a bunch of testing and like an interview and a physical exam with one of the resident doctors in the unit. They're supposed to have him back in in about a week to go over the results."

Jay gave a little nod. "Any sense how it went?"

She sighed and looked at him deciding whether or not to answer. Hank probably wouldn't want her to. But she also wasn't really liking keeping every aspect of this all buried – especially at this point when Jay was now involved in some way and knew something was up.

"I'm not a doctor," she said flatly.

"Yeah … but …?" Halstead said.

She let out a slow breath and looked at her plate for a moment before finding his eyes. "I think the doctor will likely have lots to say next week," she put flatly.

Jay allowed her a sympathetic look. But she just shrugged at him.

"It's better we got in now, though," she said. "Hank seemed calmer last night. And, then doing his thing. On the phone. Went out to talk to someone. He's likely off doing that today too."

"Who?" Halstead said.

She shrugged. "Working at getting whatever he needs or wants lined up for Ethan and school," she said. "He wants him on like an IEP but doesn't want him treated like a retard. And there's some sort of evaluation process for all that, that I guess he wants to side step or shorten."

Jay allowed a little nod but didn't comment. She wasn't sure how familiar he was with private school politics or just education dynamics in general. That'd involve talking about his past and childhood and those weren't areas that Jay discussed. Jay's life might as well have started from when he enlisted with the glimpses he did provide her with.

"So what'd he say to you?" she asked after watching him eat for a moment. He glanced at her. "To get you to talk to Will? You seemed pretty opposed to it earlier in the week. When he first approached you."

Jay shrugged after examining her with eyes where she was sure he also wasn't going to answer. But that would only confirm that something had been offered or threatened.

"It just seemed pretty important to him," he said flatly and looked back to his meal.

Erin cocked her head and looked at him even though he wasn't looking back. "You knew that before," she said. "I told you. It's his son."

He let out a breath and looked up at her. He found her eyes with an intensity. "It was just the most honest Voight's been with me," he said flatly. "About the job. About anything outside of work. And the look he had. The way he said it. It wasn't something you can bullshit."

Erin looked at him carefully. "Jay, he didn't threaten you, did he?" she asked. "Threaten your job?"

Jay scoffed. "No," he said firmly. "He pulled that and you wouldn't have had Ethan in there on my family's accord. That's for fucking sure."

Erin let out a slow breath. "Well, I appreciate you set it up," she said. "Hank does too. Even if he never puts it on quite those terms."

Jay shrugged. "If it's that important to him and he's willing to go to bat like that for the health of his kid who am I to shut him down?"

Erin allowed him a thin smile but Halstead just looked away.

"Look, I don't pretend to know or get whatever family dynamic you have. And I really doubt that Voight is Father of the Year. But I know he goes to bat for his family. Maybe I don't really approve of some of the ways I've seen or heard he does that. But what he was trying to get done for Ethan – it was legit. And, that's something dad's – men of the house – should be doing for their family."

Erin allowed a little shrug in agreement. "Yeah," she provided.

The only example she had in it all was Hank. Her father certainly hadn't done any of that. But she'd seen the example time and time again in Hank. He'd more shaped what she expected or hoped for in a man. Though, he might not be the most glowing example of what to look for either. But, somehow it seemed that most women ended up with their father in some way shape or form. Given the choice of her biological father or Hank – she hoped that if she ever decided she actually needed a man on a long-term basis, he was more in line with Voight. She wasn't quite sure Jay met that criteria. Maybe he was better? Or at least had his own set of flaws –that were the same but different.

"My dad wouldn't have done that," Jay allowed. "That's what I told Will and why I told him we were going to help you guys out on this."

"Jay …" Erin allowed a little patronizingly.

But his eyes drilled through her. "He wouldn't have," he said firmly. "Not for us and he sure as fuck didn't do it for my mom."

"Jay …" she put out there sympathetically but she really didn't know what more to say. She didn't know enough of the story. He never said what had happened. And the intensity in his eyes – the emotion, the anger – told her not to try to ask for more details. Not now. Possibly not ever.

"He had so many chances. Where if he put himself out there he might've been able to help her. Make things a bit easier," Jay pressed angrily. "But he didn't. He's a fucking coward."

Erin let out a little sigh and gave him a frown. But he just looked at his plate and stabbed at his eggs a bit.

"For all Voight is and isn't – one thing, he isn't. He's not a coward," Jay said and shrugged.

"He's not," Erin agreed softly and reached out to touch Jay's hand. He flinched a bit at the touch initially, like he was going to pull away but he didn't.

"So he wanted his kid in front of the doctors – he got his kid in front of the doctors," he said flatly.

She gave him a thin smile as those eyes gave her a glance. "He did," she agreed. "Thank you."

Jay just shrugged and went back to his breakfast.

Erin wanted more than that. But she could accept it in that moment. Sometimes you just had to take what you could get. She'd learned to live that way. Maybe Jay had too. Out of necessity.


	41. Playful Longing

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Hank had been watching Ethan since he got in sight of the house. But the kid had barely given the Escalade a glance before going back to looking longingly up the street from his seat on the front steps.

Hank got out of the vehicle and stood looking up the street for a moment. Some kids were clearly in a pretty ruckus game of street hockey. Good group of them too. But not Magoo. Ethan was just sitting there – ball cap on, glove on and absently tossing a ball back-and-forth between his hands.

Hank strode up to the steps and stood at the bottom, shoving his hands deep in his pockets staring at Ethan until the kid slowly rotated his eyes to him.

"You playing block mayor?" Hank put to him.

Ethan squinted at him questioningly. At least it seemed like the kid didn't have a clue what he was implying – but Hank still didn't like the idea of his kid keeping perched on the front steps. But Hank still didn't really like the idea of his boy being that exposed when he wasn't around. Not after his home had been broken into a few months ago.

He knew that generally criminals and street dirtbags weren't stupid enough to go into a cop's home. Too many witnesses. Too much opportunity to get themselves in deeper shit than they were already wading into when they were targeting cops. Targeting a cop was bad enough. Targeting a cop's family? Well, it was a way to get yourself killed – and not by the Hank's two favorite words: Death penalty.

So, Hank didn't worry too much about it. He couldn't. He'd drive himself crazy. Instead he took precautions. Had video surveillance. Alarms. Kept weapons in the house to be able to protect himself and his family. Kept values – both material and immaterial – safe and out of sight. But his kid? He couldn't exactly keep him locked in a hidden safe in the basement. And, sometimes he was going to have to leave Ethan there on his own.

Hank felt confident in Ethan's ability to be alone and to take care of himself for hours at a time. He'd be fine. He was twelve. Not a baby. He had enough life experience under his belt to cope. More than cope.

But Hank still knew he'd never forgive himself if something ever did happen to Ethan in their home while he was out. If something – or rather, someone – ended up at his house looking for him and ended up hurting his kid instead.

The best way he could manage that was to have some rules about what Magoo could and couldn't do while he wasn't there. It was likely to piss Ethan off, though. Have him up at boarding school for two years – alone, fending for himself – and now telling him that he can't be on the front steps or out in their own street?

Ethan wasn't likely to understand and also likely to think he was being a hard-ass. Hank wasn't even sure how much of a hard-ass he wanted to be about it anyways. The kid was growing up in Chicago. He was a boy. He was going to have to be a man. Hank had sure as hell ran the streets as a kid and learned them. Justin and Erin too – for better or worse. Ethan was going to have to learn how to function too. In some ways he was getting into that whole game a little late. Stalled because of his injury and being away. And if Hank cracked down too fucking hard now it'd only stall that farther and than it'd just be rules for Ethan to break anyways. And as soon as he got in the habit of breaking some rules it'd set a precedent for him to start breaking others.

It was a game. Figuring out what was most important. What needed to be done for his own good and safety – and what was just going to be part of growing up and him dealing with some of life's risk, failures and challenges. He'd dealt with enough of them and survived already.

"C'mon," Hank said, as he mounted the stairs, giving the kid's head a slight twist as he stepped around him. "I don't like you sitting out here."

Ethan didn't even look at him. "There's nothing to do inside." He gave Hank a bit of an accusing glance. "I'm not allowed T.V. yet. I'm not allowed the computer or internet. You don't have videogames. You took my phone. And, I can't read," he put flatly.

Hank just stared at him. "Glad to hear you understand the grounds of your punishment," he said.

Ethan just scoffed and looked away again, gazing back up the street.

"You put together the Lego your brother sent you yet?" Hank suggested a bit more gently.

A shrug. Apparently he was too 'grown-up' for Lego at this point. Or at least the set Justin had picked. It was more likely Olive who'd picked it. Hank would be making sure he put it together before the long weekend. So he could show them and thank them – whether Ethan liked it or not.

"We've got a backlot," Hank finally said after looking at his boy's sulking scowl. Kid likely didn't realize he was about three days away from starting to get some of his shit back. But if he kept up this attitude he'd likely be sitting in purgatory longer. Hank didn't do attitude – not from his kids.

Ethan glanced up at him. "A bunch of kids were out on bikes," he said a little longingly.

The angry pout disappearing and a bit of that loneliness that he was seeing radiating out of his kid more and more – especially when he asked him any questions about some of the shit that had gone down at the school. Hank didn't like seeing that in his kid. His family tended to have a bit of anti-socialness to them. Lone wolves. But that wasn't necessarily a quality you wanted to see in a little kid – not before he'd learned what it was like to be social and to have friends. To make his own choices about who he wanted to associate with and how.

Hank gave a little nod and nudged him with his foot a bit, nodding his head for him to scoot over on the step. He did and Hank sat down next to him, putting his elbows down on his knees and wringing his hands a bit.

"Lot of kids about your age on the block these days," Hank provided.

Ethan just gave him a little glance. His eyes still preferring to remain set on the kids up the street.

Hank thought the kids in the neighborhood could prove a bit of a mixed blessing. He knew some of the kids. Had seen them grow up. But there was a lot of movement in the community over the past decade too. People came and went. He generally kept tabs on who was in the neighborhood. Made sure it was still a place for his family to live. Or to push out the people who infringed on it being a place he'd want his family to live.

Kids Ethan's age meant he would hopefully have some little buddies. Kids to get in shit with. Make friends. Get his ass to school. Play on teams with. Have him over. But it was also lots of opportunities for him to find trouble. Though, he was more likely to find trouble at St. Ignatius than on the block. Erin and Justin both certainly had. Fucking spoiled rich brats sit up more pitfalls for his kids than any of the middle-class families of working parents and stay-at-home moms and the occasional hipster who'd already spawned that lived in their area. Still, given his family's circumstances, he'd take St. Ignatius and all the trouble there over sending his kids off to public school. Especially now with Ethan. Getting him his high school diploma was going to be a chore unless the doctors presented some kind of miracle next week, which Hank wasn't realistically expecting. But his kid was going to at least get through high school. He'd figure something out after that for him. Erin and Justin hadn't gone off to college and he'd set them up with employment too – something more than slinging fries. He'd do the same with Ethan.

"You go talk to them?" Hank asked.

Ethan gave him another little glance. "No," he said flatly. "They were all on bikes."

Hank gestured. "Looks like they're playing some road hockey now."

"I think it's different kids," Ethan said quietly.

"So did you go ask to play?" Hank put to him.

Ethan just cast him a look.

"Magoo, you can't be the fucking weirdo who sits on the steps and stares at people. That's just going to make them think you're … " If it was anyone else, Hank likely would've put it to him straight. It made him the freak. The fucking weirdo. The kid they avoided. But giving some sort of harshly honest term for it wasn't what he wanted to do with Ethan. Ethan dealt with being looked at as the freak enough. He knew that's what people saw and thought. He didn't need to be reminded. But he sure as fuck needed to learn how to operate within it. To hold himself with confidence so people saw the great guy he was. The really cool little kid. Rather than a fucking Munster.

Ethan gave a shrug. "I don't really like hockey that much," he said.

Hank slouched his shoulders at that, leaning more on his knees and examining his boy. That was a lie. Ethan liked hockey just fine. He'd just chosen to like baseball better. He needed to be different from Hank and Justin. Finding some other way to forge a relationship. Even as a little boy. And, fine. Hank could do the baseball thing with him as much as he'd done the hockey thing with Justin. Truth was that Ethan was more fucking talented at baseball than Justin had ever been at hockey. And, beyond that, getting Ethan back on skates after the brain injury had been hard. Balance and what not. And Hank's own nerves. Didn't exactly want his kid participating in a sport known for its concussions. Like he needed that on top of having his skull fucking crushed.

"You want to make some buddies or not?" He put to his boy directly.

Ethan flared his nostrils and provided no comment. Hank scrubbed at his face for a minute and looked down the street.

"Where'd the kids on the bikes head?" he asked.

Ethan shrugged. "I don't know. That way," he said and pointed down the road.

Hank gave a little nod. "Probably just up to the park. Why don't you go get your bike out back and take a ride up?"

Ethan eyed him. "I thought I'm grounded and not supposed to leave the house expect camp, boxing and baseball." There was a tone to it and Hank just gave him the eyes. Ethan sighed. "You said my bike is too small anyway," he mumbled.

"We did get you that thing when you were about six, Magoo. But go dig it out. We'll see if we can raise the seat and the handle bars for ya."

He shook his head. "I'll look dumb."

Hank gave him an incredulous look. Teens could be so fucking difficult. His experience was you spent about six years wanting to throttle the kids.

"You get your chores done?" Hank asked instead.

"Yea," Ethan muttered.

"I going to be happy with the job you did?"

Ethan looked at him. "I guess."

Hank nodded. "You remember how much you would've had by now with that twenty-five bucks I was giving you each month? Including June."

Ethan glanced at him. His eyes got that glazed look as he tried to think and process. "Two-fifty?" he asked after a long silence where Hank had watched the wheels slowly turn and click in his boy's head.

It was almost painful to watch the simple math take that long but he'd forced himself to shut-up and give the kid time. That's the way it was going to have to be. Fuck. Doing homework with this kid was going to be a test of his patience. He thought sitting at the table and monitoring Justin and Erin's homework was bad? It was going to be nothing compared to Ethan. At least Camille usually had them well on the way before anything Hank had to deal with. He was always the hammer. Getting home later in the evening and having to fucking wallop them to get the work done. To finish the fucking project. To study for the test. Camille was definitely the good cop in the homework equation. He was going to have to play both with Ethan. There was going to be a learning curve to that for Hank too.

Hank gave a little nod. "You want to pretend that I don't know you weren't spending that money on anything but junk in the tuck shop. Sit you down with the invoices the school sent me and a calculator. Figure out how much of that two-fifty you got left?"

Ethan's eyes sparkled with some interest and excitement but then it faded. "It wouldn't be enough for a bike," he said quietly. "Even two-fifty wouldn't be."

Hank scoffed at that. "Who you think you are? You see who this family is? Where we live? You don't need some fucking pro bike. You need two wheels, a chain and some handle bars."

Ethan just looked away again, going back to staring at the kids.

"I'll take you over to the impound," Hank said. "See what's coming up on auction. Give you an early pick. They'll glad take your cash. It will go right back into decent programming. That boxing you're doing."

Ethan just gave a dismissive shrug. It made Hank want to throttle him again – but he again restrained himself.

"Wanna take a walk over to the hobby shop?" he suggested instead. He'd been out all day. He sympathized – to a point – that the kid had had a lonely day after having a stressful one the day before. And, he was trying Erin's orders that "tough love" didn't work with Justin and it sure as hell wasn't going to work with Ethan. She was likely right. With where things were at with Magoo right now he definitely needed a bit of a tender touch. Hank didn't excel at that. He could try. Erin would just have to pick up the slack. "Pick up a pack of cards?"

It was Ethan's turn to give him an incredulous look. "I don't have no money yet," he said.

Hank eyed him. "I think I just told you a way you could get some of your pocket money back."

"For a bike," Ethan said flatly. "Some used, stolen bike."

Hank gave him firm eyes. "Perfectly good bikes that have gone unclaimed and are now being used to finance programming for the good of this city," he said firmly. "You aren't above that or better than that. This family supports initiatives like that."

Ethan huffed a bit. "So you aren't actually just going to give me the money then?"

"No," Hank said. "You think right now I trust you with that many bills in your pocket?"

"It's not that much," Ethan said quietly.

"Yea," Hank acknowledged. "Probably wouldn't go too far on some cigs or a few ounces of weed."

Ethan cast him a hurt look. "I'm not doing that right now."

"And you won't be doing it in this house," Hank said firmly.

Ethan let out a slow breath and started at the steps between his feet before turning his head to look at the kids again.

"You want to go and work on figuring out the math of what you'd have left of that cash, we'll keep a tab and I'll hand you a bit at a time," Hank said. "But I want to see what you're spending the cash on. And I'd prefer to be spent on something of substance. A bike. Not fucking Freezies and Coke at the concession stand."

"So then, there," Ethan muttered. "I still don't got no money yet then to go to Card Shark."

Hank eyed him and thought about snapping at him but managed not to. He nodded. "I go in there and you did a decent job with the chores I left you, and I think I can spot you."

"You're just trying to make me walk up to the park," he said flatly.

Hank shrugged. "We go passed it," he acknowledged.

Ethan shook his head and slumped more on his elbows, gazing down the street more.

Hank watched him for a moment but then stood. He wasn't going to sit around working at talking him into being sociable. To not act like a little freak. Some of that Ethan was going to have to figure out on his own. He got that his kid had trepidations. He understood he had valid reasons for it. But if he wasn't going to work at getting over it – well that was his funeral. It was going to be a pretty lonely life.

"Does Holly play hockey now instead of ball?" Ethan asked.

Hank glanced back at his son from his retreat into the house – and then gazed up the street too. It took a moment but he spotted the red-head kid – holding her own amongst the group of boys.

"Don't know," Hank said. "You'd have to ask her." He thought about it a moment and then added. "Don't sit there leering at her, Ethan. If you want to spend time with her or ask her a question – go talk to her. Leering at women in uncouth."

Ethan squinted at him. He didn't know the word. Why would he?

"Don't do it," Hank said flatly without giving him the dictionary definition. "She's someone's sister. Someone's daughter. You like someone looking at Erin like that?"

"She'd kick their ass," Ethan muttered.

Hank snorted and shook his head. "E, you treat girls – women – with respect. You might be twelve but you never know which one is going to be the one. You know how old I was when I met your mom?" His son shrugged. "Fourteen." No reaction from his kid. "You know how old we were when we got married?"

"Old," Ethan said with some snark.

"Yea, ancient," Hank said, pressing the toe of his boot a little into Ethan's ass, enough to get a glance. "Twenty-four. So we knew each other ten years before getting married. Grew up together."

Ethan rolled his eyes at him. "I'm not marrying Holly, Dad," he groaned. "I don't even like her."

Hank flipped the lip on his boy's cap until the boy looked up at him. "You aren't old enough to know what you like or don't like. And, you ain't never going to see the future. So you treat her with dignity and respect. Talk to her. Be a good friend. Don't be the creep sitting on the steps leering at her."

"I'm just watching them play," Ethan muttered.

Hank just looked at him for a moment and then reached for the door again. "We've got a couple sticks down in the basement," he said. "Go grab one. Walk up the street. Play."

Ethan just grunted. "Wanna play catch?" he asked dejectedly instead, giving him a glance from his continued examination of the scene.

Hank vocally sighed at him at that. But he wasn't going to say 'no'. Not outright.

"In a bit," Hank said. "In back. I'm going to clean up and wind down a bit from work and then start getting dinner on the go."

Ethan glanced at him. "What's for dinner?"

"Your sister is bringing something."

Ethan lit up a bit. "Erin's coming back?"

"Mmm," Hank allowed. There wasn't much to say about it. He liked having Erin around. She cheered him up. She presence in their family's life just kept things in perspective for him. It made the work he did seem more justified. More important. A tangible outcome of something positive he'd accomplished. For all the sacrifices – it was worth something. For at least one person.

"Good," Ethan said cheerily.

It was clear who the favorite in the family was – and it wasn't him. But Hank didn't mind. Erin had done a good job at earning the 'favourite' title with both his boys. Maybe she'd earned that title in his unofficial ranking of his children too. Either way she was definitely an important part of the family. Maybe the saving sanity these days.


	42. Snit

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Hank had heard Erin come in but didn't react – even though he could tell almost immediately from the way the floorboards shifted in the front hall she wasn't alone, and he had a pretty fair idea who she was with. If anything, though, that was more reason to not react to her presence.

"Where you at Hank?" Erin called. Apparently using her detective skills in the small house was too much to ask and she had to do the typical kid behavior that apparently they never grew out of: Yelling across the damn house.

"Here," he rasped. No explanation. She could figure it out. She couldn't see him in the living room when she comes in the door – she should know his likely places. Bedroom, john, back porch, kitchen. She didn't exactly need her tin to put the pieces together.

She entered the kitchen. Hank kept his back to her. He didn't need to look. Could feel the loitering of the other person just inside the entrance. He just kept working at doing some prep on the salad. Something soothing about knife work. But he certainly didn't regret having a knife in his had in that moment. Added intimidation.

Erin pat him on the shoulder, though, giving it a squeeze, bending slightly into his view and giving him a small smile. One that would normally get returned – but he didn't think she should expect that in those moments.

"Hey," she greeted, and put a packed butcher paper on the counter next to him.

Hank glanced at it, reaching and looking at the scribbled writing on the red-brown paper. "I told you to get chicken," he said flatly, going back to his chopping dismissively.

She shrugged and leaned on the counter next to him, now really catching his eyes. "Thought you deserved steak after these past couple weeks."

Hank just shook his head at her. "Your brother doesn't like steak. You know that."

"He can suck it up," Erin said with that start of her talkback tone. "I got it for you."

He caught her eyes and pointed the knife in the direction of the steak – but also her – briefly. "A mea culpa," he said accusingly.

She sighed at him. "Jay drove me, Hank," she said with clear annoyance. "I wasn't at work yesterday to sign out a car for the weekend. Remember?"

He glared at her. He'd told her repeatedly to get another vehicle. Now. Yesterday. So far she wasn't listening. He was having to sign fucking paperwork every fucking week to grant her access to a vehicle that should be in the lot so when they got a call in the middle of the night or on weekends, she could get her ass there. He was getting sick of it.

He got it. She had hang ups on what happened with her last car. But just like everything else to do with what happened she needed to fucking get over it and move on – to do her job. And if she couldn't – then she needed to step aside. That's not what he wanted. But if she couldn't hack it, she couldn't hack. He thought more of her. Expected more of her. But it was what it was. And this car thing really wasn't going to fly now if Halstead was going to be her personal taxi service.

"So you're bringing him into my house now," Hank put to her.

The look she gave him was beyond patronizing. He wanted to throttle her.

"Ah … yeah … so I was just saying hi and helping with the groceries," Halstead droned behind him. Hank still hadn't bothered to look at him. There was a small clatter, which he assumed was him putting down whatever else Erin had picked up beyond the only thing he'd told her to fucking pick up – chicken. "And, I'm going to go."

"Good plan," Hank said.

Erin looked beyond him for a moment – clearly catching eyes with Halstead. "No," she said and then drilled her eyes into Hank. "I invited Jay for dinner." Her hand landed on the butcher pack and shoved in closer to Hank. "There's four."

"Umm …" Halstead muttered behind them. "Maybe I'll just …"

Hank didn't even need to look to know he was pointing awkwardly toward the back door.

"Yeah, you do that," he said.

There was some movement. Halstead finally entering the corner of his eye. The detective met eyes with Erin and made a gesture.

"While you talk …" he said, gesturing between them and then opened the door and stepped onto the back porch. The door closing behind him.

Hank stepped slightly to the left, positioning himself for a better view out the window. He'd removed Halstead from his kitchen and placed him in his back lot with his son. He wasn't sure he liked that situation any better. Though, with the way Ethan had looked up and seen him and the clearly friendly chatter that was happening now, it was apparent this wasn't the first time that his boy had seen Halstead in more than just passing through the bullpen.

Hank cast an accusing look to Erin. "You know how I feel about in-house romances," he said bluntly.

She rolled her eyes at him. "Hank," she pressed firmly. "This isn't about that. He helped us out. You out. Ethan. Dinner is the least we can do."

"Anything I owe Halstead, has been worked out," he said.

Erin snorted. "Paintball?" she said. "You can grill him a steak and sit at a table with him for an hour, Hank."

He just looked at her. Arguing with her was a useless battle. He could win with his boys. He always could. Anything with Erin was a fight. It always had been. He'd been told that's just the way it was with daughters. Daughters and fathers. They just didn't fucking listen. They tested you. Again. And again. AND AGAIN. But with her there were moments when he felt like he was beating his head against the wall. There was no winning – because she only listened to a certain point. Didn't matter what the punishment or the consequences were – when she had her mind set and she'd decided she was going to push the limits or test him, that was it. She'd push and push and fucking push.

It was hard. He could only be so stern with her. Because she knew his limits. She'd pushed them so far – and she'd seen him in so many situations outside his home and family life – that she knew exactly where the lines were. She knew when to stop. What lines not to cross. What landmines to step around. She knew when to step back. It made it harder for him to win any battle. It was usually a given if it was one he was going to win before they even started. They both knew which ones he'd crack down on her for. And she knew exactly what she was willing to sacrifice to get what she wanted – the way she wanted – most times. They'd been playing this game for fifteen years. She'd become an expert at it.

And his sternness only went so far. Because they both knew that she got leeway. In the house – because she was a girl. His daughter. Not a boy. Not his son. And at work – again, because they were family. She got special consideration. Special consequences. She was treated differently. Because she was special to him. Hank tried to make it all equal. To treat her the same. But it wasn't. She was still his kid. He still had a lot invested in her. Sometimes she had to make her own choices and mistakes – but just like any of his kids, he provided a safety net. He'd find a way to break her fall. Though, sometimes he'd let her get a little bunged up in the process. That was part of learning to function in the real world.

Unfortunately Erin had all that figured out too. So she pushed his buttons. And she was doing it that night. Acting up while pretending to be self-righteous. She was testing him.

And now there she was wandering over to the table where Halstead had put the canvas grocery bag.

"Potatoes," she said and put them on the tabletop. "Portobello," she added and plopped the mushroom caps next to the Russets. "And, your favorite," she said and put a boxed pie next to them both. "Strawberry rhubarb. From Fran's at the Market."

"Don't suck up," Hank said.

She shrugged at him and looked into the bag, pulling out a bottle of wine. "Guess you don't want this then either."

He made a noise at her and went over to examine the label. It was a rather pricey bottle of pinot noir.

"Mmm," he said and gave her a look. "Since when do we drink wine in this house?"

"I've seen you host dinners enough to know when you put on the table, Hank," she said.

"Mmm," he allowed. "And you ever see me dragging my underlings in here?"

"No," she pushed back – knowing exactly what he was getting at. He was the boss. The boss didn't have the kiddies over for dinner. It was just the way it worked. Just like he didn't go out for drinks with them and to share a brouhaha after shift. "But you've had your partners over over the years. And, he's my partner and I invited him over."

"To my house," Hank pressed back at her. "Not yours."

Erin sighed and crossed her arms. "So now this isn't my home too?"

He gave her a look. More games. "Don't get your nose in a snit," he told her sternly. "I'm his boss—"

"You're my boss," she spat at him.

His eyes grew sterner. "And we lay ground rules on how that works if you want to be a part of Intelligence. At home – you're home. At work – you're at work. If you want me to treat you as your boss right now then you aren't staying for dinner either."

She folded her arms tighter and looked at the ceiling. Hank took it was a cue that he'd put her in her place enough and he turned back to the counter, going back to chopping the veg.

"Hank …" she near whined after a lengthy silence. He could feel her stewing behind him. Trying to figure out how to wiggle out of this. To get her way. Fuck. It didn't matter if your kids were two or thirty. It was still the same bullshit. Just dealing with more complex arguments.

"I don't socialize with the people I supervise," he said again.

"Even the ones who got your son to the top of the waiting list?" she snarked.

"You're being really transparent in this," he said flatly. "I'm not this dumb. You don't use me taking care of my family business as an in to get some sort of approval for something I've already repeatedly told you my opinion on."

"Hank," she spat even more harshly. "This isn't about that."

He turned around to give her the shut-down eyes. "If he respected me," he said firmly, "as both his boss and your father—"

"He respects you as both, Hank," she said with a raised voice, which he didn't like.

"Then he'd respect my rules on this," he said. "Dinner. And you. And if he respected you, he'd fucking wait until—"

Erin laughed and crossed her arms tighter, glaring at him even harder. "Wait until what, Hank? We're happily married?"

He gave her even firmer eyes. "Until one of you was ready to move out of Intelligence."

Her eyes were dancing with anger. It was a look he'd gotten used to over the years. Erin had a lot of unresolved anger. He'd also gotten used to being the one that she directed it at. Because he could take it. And, because she'd done it enough and he'd stuck around long enough – without hurting her – that she knew that she could throw it at him. She could trust him with the rage. It was insecurity. She had Daddy issues. She had Mommy issues too. She was a neglected little kid who'd experienced abuse at the hands of older men. There were self-esteem and self-worth problems in her even now. She over-compensated by trying to be over-confident. Thing was she was his kid. He knew her insecurities. Where she needed support and praise. And when she needed to be put in her place. So let her lash out. Sometimes that was the only way she knew how to deal with things. It'd likely always be like that to a point. You can't ever completely undo fourteen years of bullshit during a person's formative years.

"I'm not you, Hank," she spat. "I'm not going to live like some monk. When's the last time you got laid? When's the last time you even went out?"

He just smacked his lips at her at that. "You asking me that as your father or as your boss?"

"Five years," she spat out with even more venom. "She's been gone five years, Hank. You don't get to make the rest of us miserable just because you are. Dictate our relationships. Our sex lives. Just because you don't have one."

He eyed her. He let it sit with him for a moment.

Hank was no saint. He didn't pretend that his and Camille's relationship had been perfect. Sometimes he was still amazed that she'd stuck it out with him. That they'd made a life and a family. Because he wasn't an easy person. He didn't have an easy job. He hadn't made it an easy life or family life for them. There were challenges. There were fights. Arguments. Problems.

It was a marriage.

But he'd always hoped that in some ways their relationship had set an example for their kids. An example of respect. Of toughing things out. Of dedication. Self-worth. Self-esteem. Dignity.

They'd gotten to grow up with parents who were together. Parents who'd been together for years. He hoped that counted for something.

Sometimes he wondered if it did. If it had any influence on them.

Hank just shrugged and crossed his arms. "I've never said anything about who you spread your legs for," he said flatly. "You want to hand it out to all of Chicago. You think that's a smart thing for you. Your self-esteem. Your self-worth. Your self-respect." He just shrugged again. "That's your business. But what happens in my unit is my business."

"I'm nearly thirty years old, Hank. You don't get to tell me who I get to spend my time with. Or how," she barked.

He shrugged. "I'm not. I'm telling you how to conduct yourself if you plan on working in Intelligence."

"Not that it's any of your fucking business, but we didn't do anything until I left Intelligence. We did wait," she seethed.

"And now you're back," he said flatly.

"Yeah," she spat. "And, Jay wanted to tell you straight up. Because he thought you'd respect that. That you'd give us a fucking pass. Since you'd given one to Ruzek and Burgess. But I knew it wouldn't work that way with us. Would it? So we stopped. Broke up."

"Mmm," Hank allowed. "You look real broken up."

Erin looked to the ceiling again. When her eyes finally came back down they were mixed with that rage and the glassing of held back tears. "I needed someone. Something. After Nadia."

He nodded. "And, I told you not to go back to your old habits. And you jump in bed with the first available dick."

"It's not like that," she said more dejectedly. "This isn't an 'old habit'. It's not just … sex. He gets it, Hank. He gets the job. He gets me."

"Mmm…" he allowed.

He wasn't sure he entirely believed that. He didn't think Halstead was a bad guy. But he was a young guy. A pretty boy. And, as far as Hank was concerned he'd been walking around with his fly undone since about day one. He wouldn't like it with anyone in his unit but he specifically hated it when it was directed at his girl.

"I know you," he said. "And, I know how you are with distractions—"

"This isn't a distraction," Erin near yelled frustratedly and smacked on the table and then gestured through the window. Halstead was now over looking at the bike Ethan had turned upside down trying to oil the chain. The thing was rusted to the point that if he was going to attempt to sit on the thing, they were at least going to have to buy a new chain. Not that he'd been listening to Hank when he'd told him that. He was convinced he could get it to work. So let him. It had him out of the house and quiet for the moment. "Ethan is a fucking distraction. For both of us."

Hank glared at her at that.

"What?" she spat. "You say no family at work. But I think he's spilling pretty far over into work."

"If you can't rise above that, then maybe you need to take some leave until you can wrap your head around it," he said.

Erin shook her head and walked over to the window, leaning against the counter and gazing out of it for a long moment. She finally turned and looked at him.

"I don't need time off work," she said. "We both know that's worse for me. What I need is someone I can talk to about it. You don't want to talk about it. I do, Hank. Because I'm looking at him too and I'm freaking out too. I'm seeing a kid who's going to need a whole lot of help too. And it's not just you. Just Ethan. Who's going to be affected by that. It's going to change my life too. And, I need someone to verbalize that to."

She huffed and shook her head, gazing at the countertop and flicking at some of the diced tomatoes.

"You want truth," she finally muttered after squishing several bits of the tomato under her fingertips. "I don't know what Jay and I are doing right now. Yeah, we've hooked up a couple times," she said and cast him a small glance. "But we aren't dating. It's not a relationship. Not right now. And, he doesn't like that because he hates sneaking around and lying to you. But I don't know what to tell him. Because right now all I really want is someone to talk to. A friend. I don't have a lot of those, Hank. And, I'm sorry that right now the one I have happens to have a dick and happens to work in your unit too. But work and this family are about all I've got. So what am I supposed to do? I don't know how to have normal relationships with people outside of those realms. They don't get it. They don't get me. And I don't want to let them get to know me. I trust Jay with seeing me. I trust him with seeing this family. You do too or else you wouldn't have told him whatever you told him to get him to help with Ethan."

He gave her shoulder a small squeeze at that. "I don't like banana peels," he said more gently.

She made a little sound and gave him a look. There was a pleading to her eyes. "It's not going to be one," she said.

Hank let out a little sigh. In some ways he hated this, in others he wondered if Halstead could somehow be the anchor to keep her from floating too far off base. She'd floundered in the months since Nadia. Badly. He'd thought that Ethan being home might draw her back into dealing with reality and moving on. Something else to focus on. But maybe he wasn't enough. He didn't know condoning throwing personal chaos directly into his unit was the solution, though. It sounded like it was just asking for more trouble. A grenade that'd blow up eventually. And someone was going to get eliminated in all the shrapnel. That was a given. Hank wasn't one to play with explosives. He'd rather go in with guns blaring and put the problem down before it developed into a bigger one.

"I was going to talk to you tonight about moving back in here full-time for a while. Until Ethan got settled. Until we got things sorted out," she said.

Hank shook his head. "No," he said flatly. "You're welcome here whenever you want – but you've got your own life. Own place."

Erin let out a slow breath. "And that's why I brought the food. The wine. Sweeten you up. I knew you'd say no. But you need the help. And I don't want to be running back-and-forth. This is exhausting enough without …" she just shook her head and shrugged.

"I'm fine," Hank said.

Erin looked at him – directly. "No you aren't, Hank," she said.

He shook his head at her and went back to chopping again. "I am," he said firmly.

"No," Erin said quietly. "You've just got your own banana peel."

He looked at her. He didn't want that to be true. But maybe it was. And that wasn't good for any of them either.


	43. Awkward

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

It ranked as one of the most awkward dinners he'd ever had – and Jay had definitely had some pretty awkward dinners in the past. But this took it to a whole different level. He'd told Erin that it was a bad idea. A really – REALLY – bad idea. But she hadn't listened. Sometimes listening wasn't exactly her strong point.

The food had been good. Like surprisingly good. Voight knew how to man a grill – that was for sure. He'd gotten the steaks to perfection. And whatever he'd done with the salad dressing. Well, Jay didn't know salad dressing could taste like that. It was good food. A really substantial meal. But that still hadn't really made sitting through dinner any easier.

There'd been nearly no talking. About the most Voight had managed was a few grunts in response to the kid's near insistent babbling. The kid had really clearly been hyped up and almost tripping out at dinner. Jay suspected that it likely had to do with the fact he was there but no one had directly said that. Actually, no one had directly said much of anything. He'd spent most of the meal weighing if Voight just grunted and barked at home as much as he did in the bullpen or if this was a special silent treatment just to really depict how unimpressed he was with Jay's presence. Though, Erin had been fairly silent too, which made him suspect maybe they weren't talking at the dinner table people.

The only really conversation that had seemed to be ongoing was for both Voight and Erin to tell Ethan to eat his dinner. The kid had been blabbering a lot but Jay didn't think that was the only thing stopping him from eating. The kid just seemed to have really weird eating habits. Like he'd eaten the baked potato – plain, no butter, no nothing – and had taken probably about half the salad bowl and mounded it on his plate. Well, he had until Voight given him a look of death and the kid had sheepishly returned some of it to the bowl. But baked potato and salad – that'd been it. He'd shown zero interest in the steak.

"Stop talking and eat your food," Voight had ordered at one point and jabbed his steak knife toward the kid's plate.

The kid had looked at him and huffed loudly but put a bit of the meal in his mouth. The talking had started again nearly as soon as he swallowed, though.

Jay had made the mistake of mentioning the BMX trails at one of the parks and asking if he'd ever been. Now the kid was motor-mouthing about that – and the few looks Voight had given him clearly indicated it was unappreciated.

"How much of the two-fifty do you think I have left, Dad?" Ethan had asked with salad shoved in his mouth.

"Don't talk with your mouthful," Voight had said flatly.

There was another brief silence as the kid full-on forced himself to chew as fast as possible and swallow down.

"You think I have like one-fifty left?" Ethan pressed.

"You bought a lot of chocolate milk," Voight said, not even looking at the kid.

Ethan made a face at him. Seemed to consider that. Whatever that meant.

"Jay says that I could probably get a BMX for one-fifty," Ethan said.

"That so," Voight said and fast the look of death across the table in his direction that time.

And then the fucking motoring had started again. It made Jay regret a bit that he'd gone out back and played friendly with the kid while Voight and Erin talked about whatever they talked about. He wasn't really sure he wanted to know what they talked about. It hadn't exactly been quiet, though. He'd caught some rather raised voices in the exchange.

He'd glanced at the house but the kid had barely batted an eye. Though, apparently part of the exchange had been loud enough – when there was a clear clatter inside – that Ethan had just muttered to him, "They get angry with each other lots."

If this had just been a typically every day disagreement that they both seemed calm enough from now, Jay wasn't really sure he wanted to see what a real blow up looked like. He'd seen Voight blow his stack enough times in a work environment he didn't really want to imagine what it looked like in a home environment. He definitely didn't want to be around when it happened. Or be the target, though.

Watching the apparently commonplace interactions at the table had been enough. In the midst of the kid not shutting up, Voight had started examining him. Jay had to admit he was kinda looking at the kid too. He was clearly wigging. He almost felt bad for Voight. He knew his kid acting like that was likely embarrassing for him. But what are you going to do? Something in the kid was obviously off – and he'd been told as much. He was prepared for it. Though, the kid hadn't been quite as twitchy the past few encounters with him. Weird but not like this.

Voight had finally reached out and grabbed at Ethan's chin. Jay wasn't sure what he was doing at first. He almost thought that the sergeant had completely lost patience with the kid. But then he was tilting the kid's head more gently and examining him like some sort of science experiment.

"Look at your sister," he ordered.

Ethan jerked away a bit but Voight's hand had landed right back on his forehead, his thumb tapping above the kid's one eye while he adjusted his head until he looked at Erin.

Erin had just nodded and said, "Yeah." But Jay could see the look on her face and found himself staring at the kid too. It took him a moment to realize that what Voight was likely registering was that the kid's one pupil looked slightly dilated while the other was almost pinpoint. It was strange.

"Excuse me," Voight had said. That was about the politest Jay had ever heard him. The sergeant had wiped his mouth on a napkin and raised himself from the table, disappearing for several moments into another room while he stared at Erin looking for some sort of explanation of what exactly this dinner was and when it could be done and he could excuse himself too.

But then Voight returned and went over to the fridge, pulling out a carton of chocolate milk and a glass from the cupboard. There'd been a big spat between him and the kid about him not getting chocolate milk with his meal when they sat down. But apparently something had changed.

"Ethan," he'd called and gestured for the kid to come over to him.

Ethan didn't seem nervous about going at all. Jay thought he might've been at that point if he was Ethan's age and his dad was Voight. But Jay had watched while Voight had not overly discretely opened a pill bottle and handed the kid one. He'd talked to him quietly and had even rubbed at the kid's hair before Ethan slowly put the pill in his mouth and chugged back the glass of chocolate milk.

They'd come back and sat at the table and Voight had pulled over the kid's plate, cut off too rather big slices of the steak and pushed it back in front of Ethan.

"That much," he said flatly.

Ethan let out a little sigh but picked up his knife and fork and cut the strips into smaller bits, putting one in his mouth and slowly chewing. Erin had leaned over while he did and ruffled at his hair too – giving him a little smile. That was just Erin with kids. She had a soft spot for them. Or was just good with them. Jay wasn't so much. But he could see that she was totally taking on the mothering side of things in the house. He supposed Voight needed that, though. Didn't really look like he provided it for the kid. He likely wouldn't know how.

"Ah, so that was good," Jay said as he finished his meal. Even though it looked like Ethan was just kind of starting his, he was hoping he could get the hell out of there soon. It'd just been too weird. "Thanks."

Voight nodded in acknowledgement but didn't verbalize anything. So Jay looked at Erin instead and sort of pointed.

"I should likely go," he tried to say politely.

"But we haven't had dessert," Ethan said – with his mouth full again and he again got given a death stare from his dad.

Jay patted his belly a bit. "Yeah, I'm pretty full."

"So we can eat it after we fix the bike," Ethan said.

"Ah …" Jay sputtered and looked briefly at Erin and then across at Voight. "I'm pretty sure your dad has got fixing your bike covered."

"Yep," Voight provided in monotone. He was still working on his meal. He was a really slow eater. Jay actually thought it was probably the first time he'd seen him ingest something that wasn't coffee or alcohol.

"But it's good dessert," Ethan said. "Pie."

Voight had glanced at the kid. "You aren't getting dessert if you don't eat some more of that dinner," he put firmly.

The kid cast him a small look but then looked back to his plate. That conversation was clearly over.

"I should go," Jay said more quietly to Erin.

She just nodded and pushed her chair back, wiping her mouth and standing too.

"So, night …" Jay offered awkwardly.

"Night," Voight said flatly. It was a definite dismissal.

"Bye," Ethan said a little dejectedly. Jay was sure he hadn't likely gotten on topics he wanted to spew about. Paintball. Baseball. Dinosaurs. But it was likely better for everyone that Ethan calm down and shut up and that Jay got out of there A-SAP.

He followed Erin out into the hallway. She crossed her arms, looking at him slightly unimpressed.

"That went badly," he near whispered.

She shook her head and shrugged. "No, he doesn't like talking at the dinner table. That was normal."

"Ah, yeah," Jay said. "I'm pretty sure it was more than that."

She sighed. "I said some things to him I shouldn't have said. It's OK. We'll work it out."

"Told you this was a bad idea," he provided.

"It's fine, Jay," she said more firmly and reached for the door. Now it felt like it was her who didn't want him there.

He sighed a little. But, honestly, he wasn't really sure he wanted to be there. Not in that moment. It'd been a little too tense and too screwed up. He avoided that in his own family. He wasn't sure he was interested in dealing with that in hers. Not when he had to work with her and 'dad' too.

"OK …" he allowed. "So, I'll see you Monday."

Erin just nodded but she was already shutting the door. "Monday," she agreed.

It clicked in his face.

He wasn't sure he wanted to know what else was going to be going on inside now. But somehow he did.

There was definitely an interesting dynamic. To say the least. And a different side to Voight and Erin both that he'd gotten a brief glimpse of. Too bad it'd been so awkward and uncomfortable in the process.


	44. Saw Her

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

"DaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAADDD!" the scream was near blood curdling.

It had Erin bolt upright in her bed in an instant. But she hadn't even pulled her covers back to scramble from bed before she heard Hank bolting down the hall.

"Ethan," she heard him say. The level of concern in him was radiating. He'd told her that Ethan had been having some nightmares. That the school had told him that Ethan had nightmares too. But he hadn't said anything about them sounding like Ethan had probably woken half the block.

Though, by the time she reached Ethan's bedroom and saw the scene inside, she realized this was likely more than a nightmare.

Hank was crouched down at Ethan's bedside and the boy was all-out blubbering and pawing at his one eye. A trickle of blood was coming out of his nose while Hank tried to pull the boy's hands away and look at him. But Ethan was in full hysterics and fighting against Hank. It was a restrained struggle as Hank tried to gently hold him and see what was wrong and his son flailed against him.

"I saw her. I saw her," Ethan kept saying. "I saw her. Now I can't see."

"What do you mean you can't see?" Hank asked, swiping at the blood and starting to look satisfied that it might just be a nosebleed. But the blood looked so dark it was hard to believe it was just coming out of his nose.

"What happened?" Erin asked, stepping into the room and searching the space for a tissue box to get something to start blotting the blood. She ended up handing Hank a tshirt from the floor. Not the best option but he didn't say anything and swiped it at Ethan's nose and then pulled up the kid's shirt and examined his chest before leaning him forward and running his hand down his back and gazing there. Apparently that was enough to confirm that the blood was only coming from the one spot.

Hank wrapped his arms around him, holding him tightly and rubbing at his back. "It's OK, Magoo," he said. "Just a nose bleed."

"I can't see," he said again. "I saw her. Now I can't see."

"She wasn't here," Hank said. "It was just a dream."

Ethan pawed more at his eye. "It wasn't. It was Mom."

"It wasn't Mom."

"It was someone," Ethan wailed. "Someone was here. They hit me. I can't see." He hit at his face, ramming his hand into his eye.

"No one is here," Hank said firmly and pulled his hand away from his face. "It's just me and your sister."

"I can't see!" Ethan wailed louder.

"What do you mean you can't see?" Hank asked again, again pulling Ethan's hand away from batting at his face.

Erin stepped forward, gazing at her little brother more closely. Her mouth gaped. "Hank…" she said and dropped to sit on the bed next to them, flipping on the bedside light. "Oh my God, Ethan," she said. "Look at me."

He moved his head but his one eye was so dilated and sitting near lopsided and rolled in his socket.

Hank made a noise as he saw it under the light too and tilted Ethan's chin back to him. His hand went over the one eye and he waved his hand in front of Ethan's face. No blink. No registration that anything had moved. He held up two fingers.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Hank asked.

"I can't see," Ethan whined.

"Oh my God," Erin muttered again and ran her hand through Ethan's bangs, pushing them back away from his face like that might somehow help. She looked helplessly at Hank.

"Go get dressed," he ordered. "We're going to the hospital."

She looked down – only then realizing that she was just in her panties and a tank. But the house was so hot and humid in the late-June heat – and the upstairs was worse than the main floor of the house. She'd just striped down when she finally came upstairs. She was exhausted. Mentally and emotionally drained.

Her and Hank had talked for longer than they had in a long time. Apologies. Ultimatums. New ground rules. It was exhausting. She'd near fallen into bed when she got upstairs. She hadn't thought much about what she was wearing. It didn't really matter. It was just her family. But somehow after the talk her and Hank had it made her feel exposed. He'd been pretty exposed during their chat too, though. And clear. Redefined boundaries for her living in his home as an adult. Guidelines for things that he wouldn't tolerate around his son. Examples he wanted set. Some of it had been kind of insulting. But she'd hurt and insulted him in speaking out of place in anger before dinner too. And, she supposed he was pretty exposed in that moment too. He was only in his boxers. He was likely dying in the humidity up there too. They all were. If it was going to be that hot this summer, Erin was already second-guessing moving in. She had air conditioning in her apartment. But again, that faded in the moment. It all seemed to fade in that moment. What she had on. Hank in his underwear. Any hurt feelings or contemplation from earlier in the evening. None of it matter right then. The only thing that mattered was whatever was going on with Ethan.

"Do you want me to call a bus?" she asked, already heading for the door.

"No," he said. He was still man-handling at his son's face. Examining him and trying to sooth him while Ethan blubbered. "I'll get us there faster. Call the E.R. tell them we'll be there in twenty—"

"Hank—" she started, fully prepared to argue. They didn't know what they were dealing with. A stroke? A brain aneurism? Who knew? It probably made more sense to get paramedics there than for them to be dicking around getting to the hospital. Hank driving like a crazy person across town.

"GO GET DRESSED," he snapped at her.

She met his eyes. They had that look in them. That quiet, controlled panic. This could all go to hell. He was scared. Not that Hank Voight ever admitted to fear. But she'd known him long enough that she could see it. And right then – he was.

"OK," she agreed quietly.

Hank was already pulling Ethan to him, rocking him in a tight bear hug. His hand cupping the back of his head.

"It's going to be OK, Magoo," Hank said more gently. "We're going to get you to the hospital and get you checked out."

"I saw Mom," Ethan sputtered. "I saw Mom."

"You didn't see Mom," Hank whispered.

"I saw Mom," Ethan disagreed.

Hank just shushed him.

"I can't see, Dad," he wailed.

"I know," Hank said. "We're going to the hospital. It's going to be OK."

Erin was used to placing her trust and belief in Hank. She'd had to do it more than once. She'd depended on it to get through her teens. Even to get through part of her twenties. But right then? She wasn't sure she believed him. But she hoped he was right. For Ethan's sake. For Hank's sake too.


	45. All Fucked Up

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Erin paced the waiting room. Reaching one end only to turn and pace back to the other side. Over and over.

She'd tried sitting down but she just couldn't keep still. She couldn't sit. Her brain couldn't stop turning and processing. She couldn't even register the other people in the room. She didn't want to. She was sure their emergency was just as pressing to them as her family's was to her – but in that moment she really didn't care what their problems were. She couldn't take them on.

"Erin!" she heard called out behind her and spun on her heel even though she hadn't yet completed her entire length of the room.

She supposed her brain had registered that she'd recognized the voice but somehow it also hadn't. She'd thought it was a doctor or a nurse – coming back to take her back to Ethan and Hank again. But it wasn't and she gaped for a moment at Jay as he strode rapidly toward her.

"What are you doing here?" she near demanded. It wasn't meant to sound as harsh as it did. She was just surprised to see him.

"Will called," he said.

She sighed at that and ran her hand through her hair, shaking her head. "Don't tell Hank that," she said. "Just … don't even let Hank see you. Not right now."

She should've known that might happen. It was something of a mixed blessing that Will had been working that night – or morning – whatever it was at that point. At least he sort of had some idea of the background of what might be going on. He sort of knew them. He'd jumped in a bit and gotten things moving a bit faster than maybe things would've if they'd just shown up there with a wigging out kid with a nosebleed. But somehow she knew it added to awkwardness to the situation. Somehow tying their families together in some sort of way. Debts or obligations. Though, she didn't think the Halsteads were people that thought quite that way. They didn't operate on those terms. But still. And she knew she shouldn't even be thinking about that right now. Worrying about it. All the worry should be placed right on Ethan. It should just be good news that there'd been someone there who they didn't need to explain his entire medical history to in a mad rush. That they'd gotten Ethan in and looked at quickly.

"Yeah, fine," Jay said, stepping closer to her. His hands landed on her biceps, holding her steady. And, it was only in that moment that she realized how much she'd been fidgeting and slightly trembling on her own accord. But her adrenaline was still just pumping. It was why she'd been pacing so insistently. Stopping wasn't helping. "What's going on?"

She shook her head. And it was with the headshake that she came to the further realization of how close to exhausted tears she was. "I don't know," she allowed.

Jay examined her. His eyes filling with even more concern than when she'd first spotted him.

"Why are you out here? Where's Voight? Ethan?"

She gestured off beyond the doors. "They took him down for a CT. They only let Hank go with him."

"OK …," Jay nodded, though he was looking off over her shoulder like him suddenly being there might make them open again and them come out and get her. Or even better – like it might even just fix this. But that's not how these things worked. "OK … umm … well, do you want to sit down? You're shaking."

She shook her head and crossed her arms. She didn't want to sit down. She didn't even want to be standing still. There. In the middle of a room of sick and hurt and traumatized people. She wanted to be next to Hank and her baby brother hearing everything that was being said. She wanted to have Ethan fucking home and asleep in bed. For him to be fine. She didn't want them to be in the hospital. She didn't want to do this again. Not right now. She couldn't deal with this. Not so soon after Nadia. Hank wanted to talk about banana peels? This was a banana peel. A big one. Their family couldn't do this right now. There was too many other things on their plate. They'd already dealt with too much. But what would Hank say? That life wasn't fair. Deal with it.

She uncrossed her arms and shoved them into her pockets instead. Hank's surefire method to hide shaking. To mask it. Too bad Jay had already seen it. And he clearly had noticed the change in stance too.

"What are they saying?" he asked. "Why are they giving him a CT? Didn't he just get an MRI the other day?"

Erin sighed heavily and bounced her hands in her pockets. The pocket trick wasn't helping. She really wanted to take them out and wrapping her arms around herself again. Some sort of protection. Protection she should be giving Ethan – not waiting out here with her hands in her pockets.

"They don't know," she muttered. "They think he might be having a stroke."

"A stroke?" Jay spat out in shock. "He's twelve."

A shaky breath escaped her lungs. "I know," she managed. "They don't know. It might just be his brain injury. Or it might be the brain injury is causing a stroke now. They just … don't know right now, Jay." The last of it came in angry, elevated staccato and she looked away from him, casting her eyes back to the doors. Why was it taking so long? "They're putting him through all these tests," she muttered.

"But it might just be … whatever … is brain injury," Jay said. She was almost certain it was supposed to sound encouraging – hopeful – but it just rubbed her the wrong way.

"They don't know!" she spat back at him, spinning back around. But she saw how he'd recoiled with her tone and it made her crest fall a bit. She let out a slow sigh. "He was acting really weird, Jay."

He nodded. "Yeah. He seemed pretty hyped out at dinner."

"Not that," she said and then sighed. "I don't know. Maybe that. But … his one eye. It's just it looks dead. It's all dilated and it's not tracking and he can't seem to see out of it. And … " she shook her head. "He was hallucinating or … something. And just … muttering. But it's just this slurred babble. He's not making any sense. And he's shaking."

"You're shaking," he said.

She let out another slow breath and shook her head at him, again turning away. Again hoping that the doors would open. That she could go back in and get the update.

"Well, are they running a tox-screen?" he demanded. "Because he seemed pretty fucked up at dinner, Erin."

She felt her eyes water at that and put her heel up to them. "Jay, don't say that. That was just Ethan. That's how he is. His head got crushed. He's fucked up. He's twitchy and weird and has maniac episodes like that. Just … " she shook her head, her face still hidden by her hands. "At dinner the only thing off about him was his one eye was strange. But we've been noticing that since he's been home. The pupils are different sizes a lot. They did a bunch of eye tests on him on Friday."

She swiped at her eyes. She didn't want tears to come up but by the time she brought down her hands she could see the way he was looking at her. The concern there was palpable.

"They should run a tox-screen," he said a bit more gently.

"They have," she said. "They will. Ethan says he's not on anything right now. Not since being home. And he says it was just cigarettes and weed."

"Maybe it was laced with something," Jay said. "Maybe he got his hands on something else. Guys with brain injury self-medicate a lot with whatever they can get their hands on."

The way he was looking at her told her he had experience with it. She didn't doubt that. He was tight with Mouse – and Mouse was one twitchy bastard. She knew he got medical discharge. She was sure he was using something before he started. And he had taken a while to sort of stabilize and seem slightly more normal since starting. Maybe he got on his benefits and started on some meds that were actually helping him. But he was a really strange guy. And, even though he seemed nice enough and seemed to do the job well, she had trouble interacting with him. Because she knew he was some kind of glimpse of Ethan's future. What Ethan would be like as an adult. And, even though she knew she should probably take some heed in that, instead it usually made her a little sad and kind of uncomfortable.

"I don't know," she said. "Hank's watching that. He'd know."

Jay let out an exasperated sigh at her like he was annoyed with her answer. She didn't know why. The doctors were running their tests. They'd figure it out. It wasn't like they hadn't thought of the fact that Ethan might be tripping out on something.

"He'd been off his meds for a while," she said in some sort of defense. "We thought it was just the period of phasing him back onto everything. He's been so weird since being home." She felt her breath catch in her chest as she admitted, "He's all fucked up."

The catch turned into a barely held back sob and her shoulders slouched forward with it. It only caused the tears to squeak out and she slapped her hands to her face to try to hide them. But she barely had a chance. Jay had stepped into her and wrapped his arms around her. Her face burying against his shoulder as an alternative means of hiding the tears that weren't stopping. She shook against him.

"We shouldn't have left him alone today," she rattled. "He seemed fine. He was just supposed to do some chores. I don't know. Maybe he huffed something. I don't know. Hank said he seemed fine when he got home. Just sitting on the front steps. We shouldn't have left him alone."

Jay's hand rubbed at her back and then gripped at her shoulder. "He's going to be alright," he assured. "They'll figure it out."

"He's all fucked up, Jay," she sobbed. "We can't do this again. I can't do this right now."

"It's going to be alright," he assured.

She didn't believe him either.


	46. Hospital Chair

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Hank grunted slightly as he adjusted himself in the hard hospital chair. He'd prefer to be standing – likely standing just outside of the curtained off area his son had been placed in, glaring at anyone who walked by just so it was clear how unimpressed he was with how long this was taking. But that's what hospitals were all about. Waiting. And, he'd decided it was better for him to sit down and sit still – so at least someone was keeping an eye on his kid. It was less likely to disturb his kids too and at that point he wanted them both to sleep and get as much rest as they could. If that was possible when you were stuck in the hospital.

Both Ethan and Erin were passed out on the narrow hospital gurney. Erin was on her side, curled rather protectively around Ethan. Magoo was out for the count. They had drugs in him to do that. Erin it was just exhaustion. But he was just as glad she was resting as he was Ethan.

It some ways he was almost as worried about Erin as he was Ethan. She was teetering. Really fucking teetering. She was over processing everything and it was coming out in anger and accusations and just general inappropriateness and teary emotions that he wasn't much equipped to deal with. She was spinning with it and if she didn't get a grip soon she was going to be tumbling down that rabbit hole again. And, he didn't want to deal with that again. Pulling her out after Nadia had been chore enough. He wasn't ready to steady her again not more than two months after getting her feet back under her and her head screwed on straight again. He didn't have time for that right now – not with Ethan thrown on his plate too.

He'd sort of hoped that maybe Ethan would help with her stabilization. Give her something to focus on outside of work. Something to help with and feel useful. Distract her. Have her doing something other than sitting in bars or sitting at home alone. Or falling under Bunny's influence again and all her premium advice on how to live. Nothing like having a fucking addict telling you how you're fucking up your life. Worse, though, might be her falling in again with old friends and acquaintances. That had veered it's ugly face enough. She just needed to stay the fuck away from those people. And that meant staying away from Bunny and any bar that wasn't a blue bar too. But talking sense to her on that? That was another thing. He thought she was listening. But when the going got tough Erin always seemed to start leaning toward bad old habits – no matter how much time and effort he put into helping her establish new and healthy ones. It was her way of punishing herself. That was one thing in a teenaged kid. He could even tolerate it in her early-20s. But pushing thirty? It was getting old.

That was part of the problem. She had somehow got in her head that he'd been giving Justin a fucking pass lately and she'd been hard done by. That he'd been cracking down on her while letting Justin slide by. These fucking kids. In their twenties and still giving him that kind of bullshit. It'd been the same thing when Justin got out of jail. Somehow he's hard done by and Erin is the golden child. Now Justin is starting to get his shit in order and the other one is fucking floundering around.

All this shit about Justin had pretty much made Hank decide that what was really going on was that Erin was acutely aware she was flailing all over the place and Justin was starting to get his head on straight. And she didn't like it. She also didn't like that Justin and Olive were having a kid. She hadn't put it that way. But add it to the list of things that were pretty transparent. Her younger brother was getting married and starting a family and she's pushing thirty and thinks anything more than a month is a long-term relationship. Sure. It was bothering her. She might not think she wanted kids or a family. That she'd fuck the kids up. That she'd fuck the family up. But it didn't change the fact that she knew what family was. He'd shown her that. And he saw her with kids. Say it as many times as she needed to – that she didn't want them – it didn't change what he saw when she was with them. When she was ready, she'd be a damn good mom. But when she'd be ready? It sure as hell wasn't yet. And, he acknowledged for her, as a woman, the clock as going to start ticking. She'd feel it. And little brother having a baby at home was only going to drive that home.

But Erin had to go and phrase it in him giving Justin a pass about knocking some random girl up. Like Hank somehow approved of it and was patting Justin on the back about it. And, that sure as hell wasn't the case.

Hank had done his best to set an example for his kids. They didn't see any infidelity in their home growing up. Because there hadn't been any. He was straight up with both of his kids that he felt relationships needed to be built on trust and respect and dignity. That's where you got your own self-respect, self-esteem, self-worth, self-dignity. You are the people you spend time with. Don't invest your time in losers, assholes or idiots. Full stop. And don't fucking drop your drawers for them either. Respect yourself more than that.

And that had been about the end of his sex talk and lecture talk that he'd ever given either of them. They may have gotten it more than a few times. But it was what he felt they needed to know. That was the important stuff. Condoms. Birth control. STDs. Camille got to do that with both of them. She could make them blush. Not that either of them were blushers. Erin had been more than taken by assholes by the time she came home and unfortunately the fact those fuckers touched her when she was still a little girl had had real implications for her self-respect and self-worth – and how she approached her sexuality. But beyond him trying to give her some tools to know she was a value person and deserved more – it was her business. He didn't hound her about it. Ever. He might've done his best to scare away some boys in high school. Ones nosing around for all the wrong reasons. But he worked on a don't ask, don't tell policy. He trusted that if there was something she needed to tell him – she would. It was how their household worked. Or at least how it was supposed to work.

He'd been the same with Justin. He may have barked at him more than he ever did Erin about keeping it in his pants. But Justin was going to do what he was going to do. And his son was all about finding trouble and doing stupid shit as a teenager. He was so fucking drunk most of the time – especially after his mother was gone –that he'd likely been too wasted to get it up most of the time. Which thankfully meant that they weren't dealing with him knocking up some girl way sooner than this. Because rather than it being some girl from high school – it would've been a high school kid. It would've been babies having babies and than Hank would've been navigating raising another kid.

He still fucking might. But he was sitting there hoping to God that Justin didn't fuck this up too. That this drove home for him that now was the time to grow up. He was a father now. He had a child dependent on him. His wants and needs didn't much matter anymore. That kid did. And however any of it played out, it sure as fuck wasn't the baby's fault. And, no matter what happened Hank would be seeing that his grandson was healthy, happy (as possible) and provided for. If it was him taking on that responsibility because his son couldn't hack it – that was just going to be the way it was. Though, he was hoping for a vastly different outcome.

What the fuck did Erin expect him to say to Justin about it? 'Dumb move, Son.' 'Should've used a condom, Son.' 'What the fuck were you thinking, Son?' It was a little too late for all of that at that point. And, it takes two to tango. Justin and Olive made their bed. They were going to have to lay in it. And at least they were trying to make the best of the situation. So Hank was too. That's the best he could do. It's what he did. Make the situation work as best he could.

And she then has the fucking balls to rag on him about giving his son Camille's ring. Like that was somehow him giving his "all good". It wasn't. It was hard to hand off that ring to Justin. But Justin wasn't dumb. He might've made some dumb mistakes and even stupider decisions – but he knew what that ring meant to Hank. He'd heard the story of how long the ring had been saved for. The proposal. He knew how Hank felt about his mom. How he still felt about his mom. Giving Justin the ring – for Olive – was a big deal. It was a clear message. Justin had to make this right. He had to do what was right. He was going to make this work. It wasn't optional. Hank was placing his trust in him on that in more than one way. And he'd rather see that ring on his son's fiancée's finger – the mother of his grandchild – than for it to stay locked and hidden away in a safe. Because it being there hurt too. It wasn't where it was supposed to be.

Erin kept bringing up Camille lately and it was just pissing Hank off. To the point he was almost ready to go off at her. He'd damn near lost it when she'd disrespected him – disrespected Camille – with the fucking sex life crack before dinner. She was so fucking lucky that his son and Halstead were outback or he would've ripped her a new one. Ask that of the man who raised her? Disrespected Camille just as much as him. The woman who'd let this little street kid junkie into her home. His wife deserved more than that.

A fucking relationship? A fucking quick lay? Who the fuck did Erin think she was talking to?

Hank wouldn't be getting married again. He wasn't interested. He had his wife. He had the love of his life. He wasn't going to be looking for another one. It being five years had nothing to do with it.

And dating? Going out? When the fuck did Erin think he had time for any of that anyways? His hands were full with the three of them. And they didn't do anything for his lovely personality on most days. He knew it.

But he also knew that Camille's absence was being felt more with Ethan home. It was a reminder. In so many ways. It was stirring up lots of feelings. In him too. Clearly in Erin. It was yet another thing she was thinking on. If she wasn't there wouldn't be all these little snipes he was taking from her.

It didn't help that the anniversary was approaching. Five years. Didn't feel that long and it felt like a fucking eternity too.

The anniversary didn't do good things for any of them. It was mostly just a day anymore. But it wasn't.

Thankfully the date didn't mean anything to Ethan. He didn't remember the day. The date. Hank did his best to not give that day a heaviness. To give it a deeper meaning than just a day on a calendar. For Ethan's sake. But that didn't do much for the rest of them. He hadn't yet experienced that year where the date came and went and he didn't notice. He didn't think he ever would. He just couldn't see that happening either.

He didn't think that Erin moving back in was a good idea. He was supposed to be sending his kids off to have lives. You raised them to put them out in the world. That's the way it was supposed to work. She didn't need to be coming home.

But maybe she did. But not for Ethan like she thought. He thought maybe she needed to come home for her. Before she fucking self-destructed again. Let him monitor them both. Keep them both on a short leash until both of them levelled out.

If Ethan levelled out. It was starting to feel like some sort of fractured déjà-vu. Not quite the same as last time but too much alike to want to endure again.

But at least they were out of emergency mode right now. They'd stabilized him. He was calm. He was sleeping. Resting. But all Hank had been told so far was that it wasn't a stroke and the neurologist on call was coming in. That they were going to admit him for about twenty-four hours observation. None of that had done much to ease his mind yet.

But he looked back to his boy. At least he was resting. He was there. He was OK. He wasn't the twitching, blubbering, little bag of bones from earlier. He still looked so small right now, though – especially with how Erin had him in an embraced. Erin looked so big in that bed and she was a small woman. Tough cookie in a tiny body. Always had been. He didn't like when he saw that cookie crumbling. So it was a good thing she was resting too. Mind needed time for that. Let her calm down and regroup too. Let them all think straighter in the morning.

He let out a little sigh and glanced at his watch. It was already morning. Fuck, technically it was morning when they'd got there – rolling into the emergency room at 3 a.m. But it was after 10 now. The kids had been passed out for a good two hours. Ethan a bit longer.

Hank leaned forward. He cupped his boy's cheek. Ethan's head was still small enough that when he did that his hand took up most of his face. He was able to curl his fingers up over his head, thread them through his hair.

Ethan made a small sound in his sleep – a small acknowledgement that dad was there. And, Hank did the best he could. To take care of him. To get him through. Did for all three of them. None of them made it easy.

He stroked his thumb over Ethan's cheekbone. Part of him wanted to drew up the lid and see what that eye looked like right now but he didn't want to risk waking him. Not again. Not right now. He'd been through enough. Test after test while he was clearly in distress.

"I'm here, Magoo," he told him quietly, still staring at him until he felt himself being looked at.

Hank shifted his eyes to meet Erin's. She was gazing at him in half-slits.

"I'm sorry, Hank," she said at a near whisper.

He gave her a thin smile and a little shrug, reaching a patting at her cheek. "Don't worry about it," he said and gave a small gesture at Ethan. "All our thoughts and energy needs to be here right now. Just forget about the rest of it."

She allowed a little nod. But it had that unsure quality that sometimes radiated off her. One that you had to know her to see because she usually tried to exude overconfidence.

He sighed a little at that and sat back in his chair. She was still staring at him.

"Go back to sleep," he said. "We're still waiting on the doc."

She rubbed at her eyes a bit. "Doc or neurologist?"

"Neurologist," Hank said flatly.

"Has Will been back in yet?" she yawned.

"Nah," he provided. "Not for a bit. Nurses have been in an out checking on him."

Erin's eyes shifted to Ethan and her hand played at his sleeping mass too before they moved up to the IV and looked at it. What they had dripping into him at the moment still had a long ways to go if they were trying to pump the whole thing into his body.

She let out a little noise and settled again, her eyes started to drift shut. "Wake me up when one of the doctors comes in," she said.

"Mmm," Hank acknowledged. But he wasn't sure he'd be waking either of them. Not if they were sleeping.

He needed them both rested and well. This was a good start. And, besides, he thought, as he slumped more into the chair, trying to find something that resembled a comfortable position, kids were easier when they were sleeping. And a hell of a lot cuter.


	47. Briefing

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Hank sat up straight as the curtain surrounding Ethan's bed pulled open slightly and Will Halstead stepped inside.

"Hi Hank," he greeted, holding a clipboard against him.

Hank gave him a small nod and the doctor examined the boy – and Erin - from the end of the bed for a moment, picking up the chart from the foot of the bed and gazing at it briefly.

"How long he been out?" Will asked.

Hank shrugged. "Pushing three hours."

Will gave a little nod in acknowledgement and put the chart back in its tray and crossed his arms back against himself.

"So, the neurologist is still about ninety minutes out," he said, "and there's going to be a couple cases that take priority over Ethan after he gets here."

Hank let out a long sigh and glared at him. "We've been sitting in here for hours. I thought you were admitting him."

Will gave a nod. "We're still working on getting a bed for him."

Hank scrubbed at his face and sat up straighter, spreading his legs wider – taking up more space – and crossing his arms. "I told you. I don't care if you can't put him in the kids' ward. Just get us into a room."

Will gave him a thin smile of acknowledgement. "We're working on it. Saturday nights in Chicagoland. It's a full house this morning."

Hank flared his nostrils. "So I have to wait until this joker shows up and we get moved upstairs before anyone tells me what's going on with me son?" he demanded.

Erin stirred at that. Will glanced that way but Voight just kept drilling his eyes into the doctor. He wanted answers. He wanted his son fixed. And he wanted to get him home. Done.

Erin's eyes cracked and gazed at Hank, seeing his aggressive stance, and she slowly rotated her head to see Will standing at the end of the bed.

"Hey," he greeted.

She sat up quickly at that, smoothing down her hair and swiping at her face in an effort to knock out any signs of sleep.

"Hi," she allowed softly, clearly a little embarrassed to have been caught passed out in bed with her little brother.

Will gestured outside the curtains. "So, I was just about to take your dad outside and explain a bit about what appears to be going on," he said, meeting Hank's eyes briefly before turning back to Erin. "If you wanted to join us."

"Yeah," Erin agreed. She still sounded sleepy. She had just woken up. But she got up from the bed and started to follow the doctor, glancing at Hank's still stiff position. She squinted at him. "You coming?"

He grunted and cocked his head toward his sleeping boy. He wasn't letting Ethan out of his sight. Clearly fucking bad things happened to his boy when he took his eyes off him. He didn't care they were in a hospital right now.

Will examined him for a moment. "We're literally just outside," he said. "I was just going to show you the CT on the computer. I can sort of unofficially pull up a few of the results from the other day too to help you understand what's going on a bit better."

"Get an iPad," Hank said flatly.

Erin looked at him helplessly. "Hank, c'mon," she pleaded.

He grunted – clearly depicting his displeasure at the entire situation. But Erin came over and grabbed at the elbow of one of his tightly crossed arms.

"Let Ethan sleep. Come outside," she said gently but her eyes had a sternness to them that he was sure she'd picked up over the years of living in his house.

He let out a small unimpressed noise but rose. He gave Ethan's foot a small squeeze under the blankets and then followed, making sure the curtains were open enough that his son could see them if he did wake.

Will was already at the computer and had imaging pulled up on the screen by the time they joined him. He gave them a glance and then used his pen to point at a section of the image that was clearly showing the outline of a skull and various brain matter.

"So there's no bleeding anywhere in the brain," he said. "So that's good news."

"Already told me that," Hank said bluntly, crossing his arms again while he looked at the screen. He'd already seen so many of these fucking things with Ethan's previous time in the hospital. He might has well be an amateur radiologist at this point. He jutted his own finger at the screen – at an area that clearly looked off to his trained-untrained eye. "What's this?"

Will gave a little nod. "That's what we're looking at," he agreed and tapped it with his pen. "So we're seeing some swelling there – and a little bit of fluid. And this," he said moving the pen and carefully pointing with the pen-point. "It's a tiny cystic structure. And this is all pressing against his optic nerve," he added and ran his pen down another area.

He looked at Hank. "Did he have any vision loss or disruptions after his brain injury?"

Hank scrubbed at his face – slowly drawing out his chin. "He was unconscious for the first bit," he said.

"When he woke up," Will clarified.

Hank let out a slow breath. "Yea," he acknowledged. "Some double vision, some stars. Lines. It passed."

"Did he have the difficulty processing what he was seeing?"

Hank shook his head and shrugged. "He was generally … very confused … when he woke up."

"OK," Will nodded and made a little note in the file he had with him.

"So is this just because of his old brain injury?" Erin asked.

Will gave a little sigh and shrugged. "It could be. It could be that fight go in shook things up a bit."

"No," Hank said and shook his head. "This has been going on for a while. His grades have been going down."

Will nodded. "And, some of this, you're just going to have to wait until your appointment in the Trauma Center to go over. They'll be able to take a broader based view of his entire medical history and are better equipped to address some of the larger implications of what happened then versus the cause and effect of what's happened now."

"So you aren't doing anything for us?" Hank said flatly. His entire face creased with how unimpressed he was.

"I didn't say that," Will said. He again tapped on the screen. "All this pressure around the optical nerve, it will be contributing to some of his vision loss."

"Loss?" Hank spat. "My son can't see out of his one eye."

"Not exactly," Will shook his head. His hands played across the keyboard and he pulled up an unfamiliar piece of imaging on the screen. It was dark circles with a variety of markings filling one half and black the other. "So this is from his field of vision testing the other day. These represent his eyes – and these black areas – they are where he isn't seeing."

Erin's hand came up to her mouth as she gazed at the screen – as that set in. "That's half his eye," she said.

"It's half both of his eyes," Will corrected. "But it's actually just his peripheral vision. Not his central."

"If it's both eyes why is he only complaining about the one?" Hank spat.

Will shrugged. "I think that one is a little more aggravated from the fight he got in. He took a blow to that eye. He's more conscious of there being changes in it. And just with the side there's the pressure and the fluid on right now that's having some implications for its muscles and movements."

"He was fucking hallucinating," Hank spat.

"Well, the shadow figure he was describing is actually a vision disruption that we do hear from brain trauma victims," Will said evenly. "This," he reaffirmed again, pointing at the screen of the skewed field of vision, "is actually something we do see in brain trauma. More often blast victims. Cops. Vets. But considering what Ethan went through."

"So what are you going to fucking do about it?" Hank demanded and Erin's hand slapped onto his bicep, clearly trying to get him to calm down. "You aren't sending him home like this," he said a bit more gently.

Will shook his head. "I've consulted with the neurologist and we're actually going to start him on an intravenous round of medication that sometimes helps this."

"Sometimes?" Hank barked.

Will just gave him a look. He was clearly losing his patience with him. Or at least with being barked at.

"The medication will address the swelling and possibly help with the fluid. It's actually a medication we give to spinal patients a lot," Will said.

"He's not a spinal patient," Erin put forward on Hank's behalf before he could get more agitated. "He's … blind?"

"He's not blind," Will said. "This is something that happens in TBI. The medication may help expand some of his field of vision as the swelling goes down, and if not, the Trauma Center will refer him to a therapist who will be able to teach him scanning techniques to use his whole field of vision."

"So that's it?" Erin said with some of her own distaste. "You're going to hook him up on another IV and then send us on our way?"

Will crossed his arms and looked at her. "Actually, the neurologist will discuss this with you but this treatment is going to be more than today."

"More than today?" Hank pressed.

Will moved his eyes to him. "They usually administer for a month and then see where things are at."

"A month?" Erin said in disbelief. "You're admitting him for a MONTH? No one said anything about that. We were told twenty-four hours observation!"

It was Hank who put his hand on her shoulder at that point. She gave him a glance. She eyes were enraged and she jerked away from him, giving Will Halstead a stare down.

"Unless the neurologist feels there's reason to keep him longer than twenty-four hours, than no – there are no plans to keep him for a month. But you'll have to make arrangements to get Ethan in daily to have the IV administered."

Hank let out a slow breath and rubbed at his face as he processed that. Every day? For how many hours? And that was if things were running on time at the fucking hospital or clinic or wherever the fuck they got shuttled for this.

"And if it doesn't help the swelling?" he asked.

Will looked him directly in the eyes. "Then surgery to relieve the pressure and address the fluid, if need be, will be considered."

Hank tilted his chin and gave him eyes. "So you want to drill holes in my son's head again?"

Will didn't get a chance to answer, though. Behind them there was a slightly agitated whimper of "Dad."

Hank looked over his shoulder and then cast firm eyes at Will Halstead one more time before turning and walking back into the curtained area.

He gave his boy a soft smile and put his hands on either side of Ethan's head, cupping it and stroking at his face. "Hey, Bud," he said and then stepped back and pulled the chair closer to the bed, sitting down. Ethan looked disoriented. "You must be hungry. You want me to go find a nurse and see if we can rustle up something for ya?"

Ethan shook his head and went back to gazing around the little area, squinting outside the curtains at Will and Erin and then looking questioningly at the IV bag above him. The eye was still cocked oddly in his eye and the pupils seemed unfocused.

"What's going on?" he asked apprehensively.

Hank leaned forward on his knees. "We're still waiting for a room for you, Bud."

"Can't we just go home?" Ethan whimpered.

Hank shook his head and sat back in the chair. "Not yet," he said flatly and cast a look out at Will.

Will sighed and looked to Erin. "So I'm going to have a nurse come in and get him started on the drip. The neurologist will discuss the rest of it with you both."

"You mean the surgery?" Erin spat out and gazed off down the hallway. She didn't even want to think about that.

Will turned back to the computer and again called up the CT imaging. "I actually think the surgery will be a last resort," he said and pointed at the screen. "All of this is really centered near the pituitary gland. It's the master gland. It controls everything in the body. How it all communicates. And in a kid Ethan's age – especially when he hasn't started puberty yet – they are really going to want to avoid shocking it. And going in – it's going to piss it off. The neurologist will have a neurosurgeon take a look. See what they think. Get an opinion on this little cystic structure that's here. But this medication usually has decent results in terms of the swelling and pressure and cell regeneration and absorption. That should help. A bit."

"A bit. Decent," she huffed unimpressed and then shook her head and looked at him more directly. "What about the rest of it?"

Will let out a slow breath. "Erin, some of this is going to be the matter of his doctors – in the Trauma Center – making educated diagnosis based on what happened previously. His previous history. All the implications that has and then fitting it into the puzzle of what happened last night. Honestly, the neurologist will take a look at him and all these results. We'll keep him for twenty-four hours and make sure he remains stable. But he's fine right now. This isn't an emergency situation. And, you're scheduled to be in the Trauma Center later this week. A lot of this is going to get deferred to them."

"Great," she muttered. "And him not reading? Him wigging out? He was shaking, babbling when we brought him in? The nosebleed?"

"Again, some of that will be up to the Trauma Center to weed out how to classify some of this. But, the babbling? He was in shock. He was scared. And the shaking? His blood pressure and heart rate were off the charts when you brought him in. And, Erin, in TBI patients sometimes the brain doesn't control those functions as well anymore. Add in this pressure near the pituitary – and well, that's the control center for a lot of this stuff. So if it's being aggravated or because of his injury or because of this little cyst, which also might be a remnant that's grown out of his injury – that could be causing some of it too. It could even be causing the strange dilation you're seeing in his eyes. And even the shock – the adrenaline. But we've brought him down. Everything is in normal realms right now. We're going to monitor him. Take some more blood at intervals. And the neurologist is going to make a call about it. We might have an endocrinologist take a quick look at him or at least his bloodwork. But some of this is just going to have to wait until you talk to the Trauma Center. And, what they're going to tell you is that he has a brain injury. It's a life-long issue. It causes health problems. It causes cognitive problems. And, he – your family – is just going to have to find a way to cope with that. Some of these things become more apparent when a kid is hitting puberty, their teens. Things just aren't working … normally. You start to see it and realize it more. It's no one's fault."

"It's no one's fault that no one knew he had pressure, swelling, fluid and a cyst in his head?" she pressed.

Will gave a little sigh and flipped through Ethan's chart. "Look, I don't know what happened. I know that normally after the three-year mark, it's not abnormal for follow-up imaging not to happen again until the fifth year. It'd depend on his case. I'm sure the doctors in the Trauma Center made a decision that made sense at the time. And, I'm sure if Ethan had been brought in with another concern before now this sort of testing and imaging would've been done sooner. It's just that it's … veering its head now."

She let out a slow breath. "So that's it? He's just going to be on an IV today? Some blood draws?"

Will shrugged. "My shift is over. I've been waiting around for the neurologist for you guys too."

She allowed him a thin smile for that and ran her hand through her hair, gazing in at Hank and Ethan. Hank's whole body language was screaming how worried he was. He was being overly tender with Ethan and Ethan just looked out of it. It'd probably be best if he just lay back down and went back to sleep.

"Look, really at this point, it's pretty much going to be letting him rest. You have to consider it almost post-concussion treatment. Looking at it that way will make the next few days easier. Even the next month. Just let him sleep. Don't let him do too much activity."

"Ethan doesn't sit still," Erin said flatly.

Will let out a slow breath. "Well, with the drugs we pumped into him to sedate him and bring down his heart rate and BP – he's going to be feeling pretty lethargic. And, I'm going to leave a prescription for some pain because I'm really surprised he's not complaining of headaches with what's going on in his head. And I'm going to leave him some anti-nausea medication because right now with him being aware of the vision problems he's likely going to feel a little sea sick. Not to mention these meds we'll be getting into him."

Erin gave a little nod and Will glanced at his chart. "I'm likely going to switch up his anxiety med for something else and this one med … is he administering it for PTSD?"

Erin shrugged. "You'd have to ask Hank. I don't get to go to those appointments."

Will nodded. "OK, well, if that's what it is there's another one that I think I'd prefer him on. It will help keep his BP in check too and that will help with headaches as well. And, this drug is really supposed to help the guys who was hallucinations. So I'm going to look up if we can safely give it to a kid Ethan's age and if Hank gives his go-ahead, we'll see how he does on that instead."

Erin allowed him a thin smile but she'd turned most of her attention back to just watching Hank and Ethan. Hank was talking at him quietly. She could tell that Ethan just really wanted his dad but he was trying to be grown up about it. She sort of wanted to tell them both to stop trying to be strong or brave or men or whatever they were doing – to just hug and comfort each other. But before she could say a thing, Will slapped his folder on her shoulder.

"And, you should go home. Get everyone a change of clothes. Something for him to do. Some food. Some coffee," he said.

She shrugged. "Maybe," she allowed. "In a bit. After the neurologist."

"You're still going to be waiting a while for him," Will said flatly.

Erin let out an annoyed breath at that. But Will just gave her shoulder and squeeze and started to walk away. "At least go out to the waiting room for a second," he said. "Someone's been waiting on you all morning."

She gazed at him at that but he just gave her a small wink and then turned and kept going.


	48. Stayed

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Erin allowed a small smile as she got into the waiting room. Jay was slouched so far down in one of the chairs he looked like he was about to slide off. His legs were full spread eagle that really no one had the option of claiming a seat on either side of him but the waiting room seemed a bit quieter at that point in the day than earlier for anyone to be bugging him about it. His arms were crossed over his belly and his head sagging. From a distance she couldn't tell if he was just drowsing – resting his eyes – or if he was actually asleep. But as she got closer he didn't move or stir and that gave her the answer.

She nudged at his foot with her toe and he startled, jumping up straighter yet nearly falling out of the seat in the process. His eyes went wide and he looked at her accusingly – likely ready to bite some poor nurse or attendant's head off for scaring the shit out of him. But they softened when he registered her presence.

"That your sniper stance?" she teased him.

He just groaned at her and rubbed some of the sleep up of his eyes, purposely sitting straighter then and closing his manspread enough that she could claim one of the seats next to him.

"You didn't have to stay," she told him.

He shrugged. "I know," he allowed.

She just nodded and gave him a gentle smile.

He was too nice. It caused too many problems.

Jay looked at her seriously then, though. "So?" he asked.

"Will didn't tell you anything?"

He scoffed. "He's not going to tell me anything. C'mon. He's a professional."

"He called you," she put flatly.

He gave her a deadly serious look. "And told me you were here. That's it."

She nodded and let out a slow breath, looking at the floor for a moment.

"And you aren't going to tell me anything either," Jay said flatly when apparently her moment spanned too long.

She gave him a mildly annoyed look. "I was just … organizing my thoughts," she said. "It's been a long night … morning," she corrected.

So long. It was a blur. And she was still processing it all. Trying to absorb everything that Will had said. Trying to understand it.

Hank had shut her down when she tried to talk to him a bit about it. He didn't want to talk until Ethan was seen by the neurologist. And then he'd already made up in his own mind that they weren't leaving the hospital until a neurosurgeon interjected their two-cents too.

She had to hope this wasn't going to be like last time. Her and Justin hadn't been allowed to have any involvement in any of the decisions. OK. Justin was still a kid but he was seventeen – almost eighteen at the time. And she was an adult. She could've at least been privy to some of the information doctors were giving Hank. But no. Everything she'd gotten had been filtered through Hank first. And she knew he'd been selective in what she got told. She got told the information that pertained to the decision he'd already made.

She understood. It was his child. He was the final say. But she thought she still had a right to understand what was going on in Ethan's life – with his health. Especially this time around.

Maybe it'd be different this time. She wasn't some twenty-four year old rookie anymore who was just barely having left the nest. She was an adult. And she was actively helping with Ethan's care. As much as Hank would let her.

At least he'd let her stand and talk to Will after he'd stormed away. She'd gotten some information that he hadn't. Though, he was within earshot. Even though he looked like he was interacting with Ethan, she knew that Hank was pretty expert at dividing his attention and multitasking. He could be comforting his son and listening in on their talk easily.

But she had to hope that he'd treat her like she was a party who had a vested interest in the outcome this time. It was her baby brother. And, if she was going to have to spend the next six years or more helping raise him and get him through high school and whatever came after that. Whatever happened after he hit his eighteenth birthday and decided he was a grown up and could take care of himself and manage it all and that he hated them all and all the decisions they'd made on his behalf in the process. Well, if she was going to be a participant in any of that, she thought she had a right – a need – to understand all the information that the doctors were handing out to Hank.

She hoped he understood that. But Hank was a private person. As much as he talked about trust and openness in his house, it really was a double standard. That was for his kids. Not for him. It was a do as I say, not do as I do situation.

She knew that part of that meant that Hank didn't want her sitting out here talking to Jay – telling him personal, private information about his son, about their family. But Hank didn't even know Jay was out there. All he knew was that she was going to use the restroom and wash her face. That she was going to see if she could find them some coffee and maybe something to eat. Though, she didn't think Hank would likely eat and she didn't get the impression that Ethan was too hungry with whatever they had pumping into him.

But somehow she didn't care. She cared but she didn't. It was Jay. It wasn't some stranger on the street. It was a member of their unit – her partner. Hank always said they were supposed to be family too. And, the reality was that tomorrow morning, they were going to know something was up anyways. They already knew something was up. They had for two weeks. Their absence on Friday and now on Monday would just drive it home. Though, Hank had already lay down that she was going in. They couldn't have two people out of their unit disappearing and taking days off on a regular basis. That wasn't going to fly. It'd be a problem.

She didn't know how he expected to handle getting Ethan this IV every day for the next month. Hank wasn't one to take time off work. And for one of them to be out of the bullpen for hours or more at a time? It wasn't going to work. But he'd shut her down when she'd tried to broach that too. Yet another thing he didn't want to talk about until he got to speak to the neurologist. And, really, she knew he'd figure it out. He'd pull some strings or offer up some favors to try to get Ethan scheduled in at times that made it slightly easier to deal with. Early morning? Early evening? Late at night? She didn't know. But Hank would. He was good at that kind of thing. He just needed time to work it out. To make his plan. He always had a plan.

"Ah … well," Erin sighed and shook her head, giving Jay a frown. "There's all this swelling and fluid in this cavity in his head. This little cystic mass."

"Cystic mass?" Jay said with an increased concern in his voice and a panic that she didn't see in his eyes very often. "Like a tumor?"

She shook her head and put her hand on his forearm – her being the one comforting him. He'd never said how his mom died beyond she'd been sick. The underlying, unstated assumption was that it was cancer. With the way he reacted it seemed to confirm that but with the intensity of it Erin almost wondered if it'd been a brain tumor.

"No," she allowed. "It's cystic. So it's like … all these little bubbles with fluid in them. Or at least that's what Will thinks."

Jay let out an exaggerated breath that sounded a little shaky and he ran his hand up his forehead. "No," he said. "Will's not qualified to make that kind of diagnosis. You need to get a neurologist or a neurosurgeon or someone else to look at that."

She nodded and found his hand and gave it squeeze. "We are. It's OK."

He sat back in his chair and shook his head. "So this is new? It's not from the brain injury?" he demanded.

The urgency in his voice – him pressing for the information – made her really wonder about just what kind of hospital experience he'd had previously. Clearly it wasn't a positive or smooth one. It was one where he felt he had to advocate for those around him. To push and fight for second-opinions and alternative treatment options. He seemed to be taking this very seriously. And, Erin found herself wondering if it was because he cared about her, or he cared that it was his boss' kid or if this was just all about whatever he'd been through in his past that he still didn't seem ready to share with her.

"They aren't really sure," she said. "It could be sort of related. Healing and bruising and scaring and just remnants from his brain healing and now growing. They're kind of deferring that assessment to others."

Jay shook his head in anger. "They always fucking do that. That's what Will told you? Let someone else handle it?"

"He didn't quite put it that way," Erin said.

Jay let out an annoyed sigh. "But Voight's got it under control? Because I saw Alec – Julie's husband – pass through. You could get on him—"

"Jay, Hank's got it under control. The neurologist is on his way in and Hank is ready to jump down his throat."

Jay sat back in the chair. His breathing was slightly aggravated and he seemed to take a moment to calm himself but then he looked at her again. "So this cystic thing. That's what's causing all this?"

She shrugged. "Not really. Some of it is likely just his brain injury. But the swelling and the cystic structure – it's pushing against one of the lobes and this gland in his brain. And his optical nerve. So it's … exasperating things right now."

"Jesus," Jay muttered and shook his head examining the floor on his own for a moment and then finding her hand and giving it a squeeze on his knee. "How's Ethan?"

"They did a spinal tap to relieve some of the pressure and gave him some drugs to bring down his heart rate and blood pressure. Basically sedated him. So he's been sleeping. He's just kind of waking up at this point. He's still a little out of it."

Jay gave a little nod. "So are they keeping him here?"

She gave him a sad smile. "Yea," she allowed. "Twenty-four hours observation. They're actually putting him on some kind of steroid IV that is supposed to help with the swelling and the pressure. It's a twenty-three hour drip to start."

"To start?" Jay put back to her, the quiet urgency coming back up in his voice and he gripped a bit tighter at her hand.

"Hank can't know I told you this," she said quietly.

"OK," he allowed.

"This treatment is going to be about a month of IVs. About 45 minutes a day and then I guess they tapper him off and do oral steroids for like two weeks. And if the swelling and pressure hasn't resolved they might have to do surgery," she said evenly.

Somehow saying it felt awful. It made it feel more real than it had listening to it examined. She was conveying it. She was putting it out there into the universe and it felt awful. It made her flashback and see her baby brother those years ago in the hospital bed. The tubes and monitors and beeping. Him being wheeled into yet another surgery and all the bandaging after.

Those thoughts just made her shake head and stare at the floor. She wasn't sure she was ready to think about that yet. Not right now.

"How's Voight taking it?" Jay asked quietly, squeezing more at her hand.

She gave him another sad smile. "The way Hank takes anything," she said.

"Mmm," Jay allowed and gave her a small smile. "Glad I'm out here then."

She smiled more genuinely at that. "Definitely safer."

He snorted and shook his head.

"You should go home," she said quietly. "You don't want to waste your whole day-off sitting around here. Besides, it looks like you could use some sleep and it's like you said – don't want Voight to see you."

Jay just grunted at that and examined her carefully, reaching and tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "You look tired too."

She shrugged. "I slept a bit. As much as I could on a gurney with Ethan."

Jay allowed a little laugh at that and she graced him with a slightly wider smile. She liked when she was able to make him smile and laugh. Mostly because she loved what his eyes did when he did.

She gestured down the one hallway where there was a sign directing to the cafeteria.

"I was going to go grab some coffee," she said. "And see if I could find some mints or something for Ethan. The IV is already giving him a metallic taste in his mouth." Jay just nodded. "It's actually supposed to make him starving eventually."

"Steroids," Jay muttered.

Erin nodded. "Hank will love that. Maybe we'll get through a few meals without having to bribe Ethan into eating."

Jay smiled gently. But they both knew it wasn't funny. Pumping steroid-like drugs into a little kid was going to have other implications. But at the moment it was apparently the best option for dealing with the issue at hand.

"Want me to go out and see if I can find some real coffee for you and something edible?" he asked.

Erin gave him a thin smile for that effort but shook her head. "No," she said. "Hank will wonder where I've been if I'm gone too long and I don't think him seeing you here would go over so well."

"Yea …" Jay acknowledged and then looked at her more seriously. "You going to be in tomorrow? You want me to say anything to the squad?"

She flared her nostrils a bit and shook her head. "I'll be in. Hank likely won't. He hasn't even gone to take a leak yet. He won't be letting Ethan out of his sight."

"So what are you going to tell them?" Jay asked instead.

Erin snorted a bit at that and shrugged. "I guess whatever Hank wants me to tell them."

"And let me guess what that is: Nothing," he said flatly.

She shrugged. "Family and work, Jay. Two separate things."

He just grunted like he didn't entirely agree. She could see why he didn't. As much as Hank preached it – saying it and making it a reality were two different things. And unfortunately personal lives had a way of seeping into the job when you spent that much time at work with the same people day-in, day-out. It'd be easier if they just all knew and understood what was going on.

But Erin wasn't likely going to have much say in that decision process either. She'd just have to dance around to whatever the tune was to honor his wishes. Lie and sidestep questions from the rest of her family.

She gave Jay's hand a final squeeze and stood up. "I'm going to go," she said. "I want to see if I can reach Justin – or at least Olive – and let them know what's going on."

"He didn't call Justin yet?"

She shrugged. "Didn't want him distracted or preoccupied," she said.

Jay got a look – like he'd heard that line too many times while he was in the service too. While he was overseas and his mom was home sick. That he got limited and selective information so as to not distract him from the job at hand when he was likely already distracted. Jay pretended he was the master compartmentalizer. Erin didn't believe that. He was rather acutely aware of his emotions, he just seemed to think he wasn't allowed to – or supposed to – acknowledge 90 per cent of them. She supposed she could relate to that on some level. And, she supposed it was very male.

She just nudged at his knee with her own. "Go home, Jay," she said.

He nodded but said, "Maybe I'll stay until after you get to see the neurologist or neurosurgeon or whatever."

She gave him a thin smile and said a bit more firmly. "Go home, Jay," she said. "We're OK."

He sighed at her and didn't budge so she just gave him a sympathetic look – funny how that worked when she thought it would be her who was accepting the sympathy but somehow he looked just as tired and maybe even more defeated than she felt. She gave his shoulder a squeeze and started to walk away, turning and giving him another small look.

"Thanks for staying," she allowed.

He just nodded. "Yeah, sure," he said.

She wasn't sure she would've known many other men in her life who'd sit around in a hospital all day for her – or really for her little brother, for her foster father … for their boss. But it sure earned him points. She sort of wished it'd earn him some points in Hank's eyes too.


	49. Anything

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Hank looked up as there was a knock on the frame of Ethan's door. They'd finally gotten him into a room – a good room considering. They actually had some place to sit that wasn't a hard plastic chair. More comfortable bed for the kid. A TV to try to make the day go by a bit faster. A window taunting them with the nice summer weather outside that Hank suspected they'd be missing most of over the next couple months. And a door rather than a fucking curtain.

For all the things CPD did wrong the one of the things they did fucking right was their insurance and benefits. Unfortunately he'd gotten good use of it over the years. Not for him – but for his family. His boy. And, basically that was the same difference.

Trudy Platt was standing in the door. She was dressed a little too femininely and summery for the persona she generally put off. It was always a little strange to see her out of uniform. It was even stranger seeing her standing at his son's hospital door and Hank wasn't sure he much liked it.

She held up three grease-stained paperbags. "Combos," she said gently like some sort of peace offering and stepped inside, putting them on the little table next to the armchair Voight was sitting in. She waved dismissively at them. "I know," she acknowledged. "You don't eat that crap."

Trudy gestured at where Ethan and Erin were both laying in the bed. They'd been staring quietly at a Cubs game on the T.V., though Ethan kept stirring and twitching because he was overly aware of the blindspots he was experiencing. He'd gotten himself so worked up about it at one point he'd been heaving, though the nurse who'd come in to change the sheets he'd puked all over claimed it more likely had to do with the drug they were pumping into him at the moment. Hank sure as fuck hoped not. He didn't want to be spending the next month or so cleaning up vomit. But he'd do what he had to do.

He'd more likely be cleaning up piss. At least that day. All the drugs and fluids they were pumping into Ethan had him having to take a leak every twenty minutes it seemed. Kid was refusing to use a bedpan in front of his sister – or to let Hank help him. So instead he was clumsily trying to get to the bathroom with the IV stand in tow, a fucking dress of a hospital gown on, blindspots having him stumbling around and bumping into shit and general wooziness and drowsiness from everything in his system that day making him act like a fucking wino.

He'd already had one incident where he didn't get to the bathroom in time because he waited too fucking long to make the attempt to stagger across the room. So Hank had been mopping urine up off the floor rather than wait for the nurses to fucking get there. Hitting the call button for your kid pissing on the floor apparently wasn't really a priority. Then he'd had another incident were he got into the can in time but apparently had been fumbling around with getting his skirt up and had pissed all over himself. So Hank ended up at the nursing station asking for a clean, dry gown for the second time in less than 24 hours.

Didn't sound like things were going to get much better on that front either. At least in terms of frequency. Yeah, some of it would pass after they got him off his fucking leash and out of a hospital gown. But they'd already been told this treatment he was going to have to do caused frequent urination and that it was likely to last up to two weeks after the treatment stopped. So that meant he had about two months of looking forward to making sure his boy was always in stumbling distance to a can. Or at least a wall or bush that offered some sort of privacy without anyone getting their panties in a knot about indecent exposure. It's a fucking little kid taking a leak – for medical reasons – relax. 'Course most people weren't going to see it that way. But maybe how young Ethan looked would give them some benefit of the doubt among the nosey.

"Know you don't let them eat this crap either," Trudy acknowledged.

Ethan looked at the bags, though. "There fries?" he asked quietly.

Trudy gave him a smile. "Fries, onion rings, cheeseburgers."

Ethan made a disgusted face at that and Trudy looked to Voight.

"He doesn't do cheese," he provided flatly.

"Oh … allergy?" she asked a little apologetically.

Hank gave her a look that conveyed – no, not allergy, not lactose intolerance, my kid is just a fucking weirdo. What kid didn't like cheese? And, hence didn't like cheeseburgers or pizza. His fucking kid. That's who. The only thing that was "cheese" that Ethan ate was fucking Cheez Whiz and the orange powder you put on store bought macaroni and cheese. Homemade "macaroni and cheese" – well that just got butter on the noodles and some sprinkled parm (which apparently didn't classify as cheese in his son's mind) and they called it "mac and cheese". Could the inedible chemicals that weren't much more than toxic waste in those bottles or powder being classified as "cheese"? No. But it's what Ethan at and sometimes with him you just had to go with it. If you wanted him to eat.

And, he hadn't eaten yet that day – despite the nurses having brought in some food trays for him. But he'd so far even turned down pudding and popsicles. So if he was interested in greasy fries – even though Hank didn't think it was likely to do much for his stomach – so be it.

"You want some fries, Bud?" he asked.

Ethan gave a little nod and Hank stood from the chair, rolling the table over to the bed and putting one of the bags on it, opening it up. He nodded at Erin.

"You eat something too," he ordered.

She allowed a little nod, though, he could see Erin examining Platt with some trepidation too. She likely thought he was going to lose it on her about being there. But it was Trudy. Trudy got a different pass than most. Kind of like Alvin. When you've known people that long – when they are among the old guard – you hold them to a different standard.

He watched as Erin opened the bag and pulled out the fries, setting them in front of Ethan. The boy already was grabbing at one and tentatively took a small bite, examining it like he wasn't quite sure. But Hank would let him decide – or let Erin do the brow-beating for once.

He gestured for Trudy to step out of the room and she obliged. Though she still stood, gazing in the door.

"Does he ever look like—"

"Yeah," Hank cut her off.

She gave him a thin smile – as much as Platt ever smiled, which was about as much as he did. "Sorry," she allowed.

He just shrugged. "Take it old ladies at the fences have started yapping," Hank provided.

Trudy gave a little sigh and leaned against the frame of the door, while Hank looked inside, still monitoring the situation. Didn't look like Ethan was going at the fries too much but Erin had at least taken a couple bites out of the cheeseburger. He thought he'd likely be sending her home soon anyways. Make her get some shut eye and clean up before she headed in for shift in the morning. Likely make her do a run over to the house and grab him a change of clothes and some reading material too to get him through the night. Ethan didn't seem too bothered by being stuck there. Kept asking when the IV drip was going to be done and they'd get to go home but Hank had told him bluntly enough that they weren't leaving until tomorrow that he'd finally stopped asking. He was likely happy to be being allowed to watch the Cubs' game. Though, he was so dopey that he was drifting in and out anyways. That's good. Let him rest.

"Ethan's baseball thing was today," she said.

Hank just looked at her. He didn't have baseball practice on Sunday. Didn't have a game scheduled. Actually, right now, he didn't even know if Ethan was going to even go to practice and ride the bench for the rest of the season. On fucking steroids and missing his peripheral vision with swelling on the brain? It was likely a given he was going to be on bed rest and a lack of physical activity for months.

That was going to be torture for more than just his son. Getting his hyperactive kid to sit still? Taking baseball away from him? Pulling him out of boxing when he seemed to be really taking a shining to it? Pulled a bit at Hank's heart strings and he also knew eliminating those things from his life was also going to play at his patience too. And summer camp? Fuck. He wasn't even sure he was going to be able to be sending Ethan there each day.

"The party," Trudy put to him more plainly. "I gave you Hermann's invitation earlier in the week."

"Oh, that," he said dismissively.

She rolled her eyes. "Yea," she allowed. "I knew you wouldn't likely go."

He gave her a look. Of course he wasn't going to go. Suddenly a party invitation after Hermann pesters him about Ethan's role on the team and some other little twerp not inviting his son to the actual party? He didn't think so. He wasn't going to get into that political scene. He dealt with enough fucking bullshit politics without adding that dimension to it.

"How'd you end up at it?" he asked.

She sighed. "It basically was a convenient excuse for Hermann to have all of 51 over for a barbecue. So …"

"Hmm," Hank grunted in acknowledgement.

He thought this Mouch guy seemed like a bit of an odd choice for Trudy in the few times he'd met him. Then again, he wasn't sure exactly who he ever saw Trudy ending up with at that age and stage in her life. Not that he put much time reflecting on such things about her or anyone else. Didn't much care. Their own business. And, really, Mouch was apparently a career firefighter. That counted for something. He was doing right by the city in his way. He got point for that.

"Drunk firefighters and a yard full of screaming 10-year-olds. They're basically the same thing."

He allowed her a thin smile for that comparison. Definitely not his scene. A kids' party would be bad enough. Having to play nice with 51 in a social setting? Not happening.

"So, at the risk of sounding like an old lady flapping her lips," Trudy said and looked at him. "One of the paramedics at Hermann's house is dating Roman. She saw you when you came in her last night. Recognized you. Said something about it to the other EMT, who was at this shindig. So when Hermann started to go on a little rampage about you not bringing Ethan, she mentioned you being at the hospital. So then him and his wife are going on about coming over to check up on you and play nice. And I thought I'd save you from that."

Hank snorted at that and gave her another thin smile. "Good call," he allowed.

Trudy shook her head. "You know how many kids that guy has?" she asked. "Rabbits," she muttered. "You didn't need that in this room. Whole litter of little Hermanns."

Hank just shook his head. He was glad she'd intervened. He likely would've lost it if Hermann showed up – especially if he brought a truckload of kids with him. He didn't need that. His kids didn't need that. He just wanted to get through this day. Get his boy home. Start getting the rest of this process all sorted out. Get into the Trauma Center next week. Start following up and getting this fixed and moving forward.

"His wife's a nice lady, though," Trudy added and held up a little bag at him. "Don't be too hard on her."

Hank gave her a small questioning look and took the bag, peaking inside. There was a Tupperware container at the bottom that looked like it had some cupcakes from the even packaged up. Some leftover fruits and veggies too by the looks of it. Maybe a lootbag. He fingered at it.

"Guess since the kids aren't winning and they aren't doing ice cream outings or whatever they do at these things, they put some of the team kitty into getting them some junk for this 'party'," she said. "She sent it along. Thought it might distract him a bit while you're stuck here."

Hank wasn't going to ruffle through it right there but he could see a pack of baseball cards in it and it looked like some Big League Chew. Few other knickknacks. Kid stuff. Outdoor, summer barbecue stuff to try to keep boys that age out from underfoot for a few minutes.

He gave a little nod. "Thank her for me," he said. "He'll like this."

She allowed a sympathetic look and gazed into the room. "He alright?" she asked.

Hank just shrugged. "Will be," he provided.

She nodded and shifted her examination to him. "You?" she asked.

"Sure," he allowed flatly.

Trudy let a little sigh. But Hank didn't say anymore. There wasn't anything more to say. He didn't talk about these kinds of things.

"There anything I can do for you? Go and pick up for you?" she asked instead.

"Nah," Hank said. "We're good." He said and held up the little bag and gestured in at the food the kids were working on. "Thanks for this."

She nodded and gave him a light pat on the shoulder as she started to move to leave. "Well, you know you can call if anything comes up," she said.

He nodded. "Sure," he agreed and watched as she started to walk away. "Trudy, know I don't need to say this but –"

She turned back and gave him firm eyes. "No one will hear anything from me," she said firmly.

He gave her a thin smile and a little nod.

"See you tomorrow?" she asked.

He shook his head and tilted it toward the room. "Erin," he said flatly.

Platt nodded again. "Then I'll see you when I see you," she said and turned to leave.

Hank let out another little sigh and gazed back into the room. Erin was looking at him questioningly. But he didn't say a word. He hadn't figured out what story he was going to have her telling on Monday. Clearly he needed to figure out something because the rumor mill was already running. People making their business things that weren't there business.

But instead he just stepped into the room and held up the bag at Ethan.

"Hey, look, Magoo," he said. "Your ball team sent over some stuff for you."

Ethan's eyes lit up a bit at that and Hank set the bag in his boy's lap, watching as he started to dig through it.

Distract him and get him through this. That was the goal.

Too bad he was going to have to distract others so they weren't dwelling on his business in the process.


	50. Gotta Go

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

"Ethan! Do not run up the stairs," Hank barked as his son went barging up the stairs as soon as he got in the front door and promptly tripped over his feet and stumbled forward, steadying himself with his hands on the next step and taking off up the remaining steps just as cast.

Hank cast Erin an annoyed look as she stepped in behind him and pulled the door shut behind her. She just shrugged. "When you gotta go, you gotta go," she said flatly.

He sighed. They'd barely gotten out of the hospital parking lot before Ethan declared he had to take a piss – again. Hank was going to take him back in but Ethan had balked at that idea. So instead he'd fidgeted in the backseat and lamented about it the entire ride home. Hank was sure he was going to be cleaning up piss in his vehicle – and that would really piss him off.

"We're going to end up back at the hospital before we've even got him in the door," he muttered.

"We're in the door," Erin provided.

He cast her eyes again. Not a helpful comment. But he refrained comment. Instead, just dropping the small overnight bag that had gotten brought to the hospital at the foot of the stairs and wandering through the front room to the kitchen. He opened the fridge door and gazed into it for a moment. Not much in the way of food. He didn't buy more than a few days worth of food at a time even with Ethan home now. Didn't like things going to waste. But that night he wished he'd had a bit more in stock. He sighed and closed the door – spreading his arms and leaning against the counter in thought, trying to clear his mind and frame it on something simple: What to feed his kid for dinner.

He heard the floor creak as Erin followed him in there and stared at him from the doorframe but he just ignored her again. He almost wished she'd just go home. Give him some space. He was nearing the point of putting that too her bluntly but he also just wasn't in the mood to get into another blow-up with her at that point. And, he knew she was tired and worried too.

It's just he needed some fucking space to be tired and worried on his own. He needed some fucking space to deal with this.

Sitting in a fucking hospital was hard. He wasn't good at that. Waiting around.

He was a doer. He wanted to be out getting things in order. Getting it all lined up and worked out. A plan. Or some fucking retaliation. Only he didn't know who the fuck he was supposed to retaliate against in this case. The closest he could come up with was himself. And that wasn't going to help anyone.

They'd gone from being told that Ethan had swelling and some cystic structure – all likely routing from his brain injury – causing cortical visual impairment to suddenly having the neurologist come back at them and running a bunch more tests before they got out of there. Now he'd walked out of the hospital with the doctor looking at multiple sclerosis with optic neuritis onset by his traumatic brain injury.

Erin kept saying they were just doing tests right now. But fuck that. She wasn't listening to what they were saying. Wasn't looking at the results. She was holding onto some kind of false hope.

He'd sat there and listened. He'd sat there and looked over the fucking brochures they'd given him. Lists of fucking websites.

He'd looked at the MRI results while the neurologist pointed out these spots in his brain that were a hell of a lot more than artifacts from the injury. He'd had to sit on the stool telling his twitchy, fidgety boy to keep still and while they did another spinal tap to draw out fucking cells from his spine to look at to help make the diagnosis. Second time his son had a needle shoved into his back in twenty-four hours. He'd listened to the symptoms and the explanation and looked at them all explained to him in context of all the fucking tests they did on Ethan Friday and then what he'd gone through on Sunday morning.

The doctor sent up the little hope balloon. That they don't often diagnosis M.S. in kids. That it's controversial – and so is connecting it to brain injury. But more and more studies were showing that brain injury patients were at an increased risk of developing M.S. within six years of their injury. Ethan was right on fucking schedule. So much of it fit and when combined with the symptoms associated with the brain injury – Hank didn't need to have any sort of medical expertise to see what the neurologist was running more tests and leaning in that direction. His boy was near textbook from the material he'd been handed to read while in the hospital. Cognitive difficulties and trouble performing mental activities. Gait and dexterity issues. Visual problems – including the loss of sight. Spasms and tremors. Anxiety and mood swings. Memory problems. No concentration. Babbling speech. Changes in bladder control. Inability to deal with changes in heat and humidity – which he'd be complaining about incessantly in terms of whining about the lack of A/C in the house. And sexual dysfunction – or in his case, he was twelve and now the doctors were saying it didn't look like his body had even started puberty yet. Not just he was starting late or not into the main signs of it – it hadn't started the process at all yet when they started looking at all the blood and hormones and shit under their microscopes.

They doctor was still going to be analyzing the results from one of the tests before making an official diagnosis and classifying where Ethan was at. He said they normally place children as "relapsing-remitting" but there were other classifications of M.S. – especially when they were taking the fact he was under eighteen and had documented, and significant, brain trauma. And now suddenly this wank was going to be at their Trauma Center appointment later in the week. And, Hank didn't need 20 years as a detective under his belt to know what the main part of the discussion was going to be.

Fucking doctors still treated the start of this with some sort of steroid by IV followed by pills. Apparently it was about the same cocktail of drugs as they were pumping into him if it'd been "just" CVI. Now they were having to deal with the fluid – the swelling, well that was likely M.S.. The vision? Well, that likely wasn't going to improve. And the cystic structure? They were still waiting on the opinion of the neurosurgeon but that was likely going to be classified as damage rooting out of his previous injury. If the neurosurgeon wanted to do something about that? Well, that was another story that hadn't yet been hatched.

It didn't much matter the real story was now that Hank had a kid with brain damage and now he had a kid with yet another long-term disability that was just going to compound everything he was going through even more. He didn't care it wasn't "official" yet. It felt pretty damn official to him. And it felt like a sentence. A sentence his boy didn't deserve.

Ethan didn't deserve any of this.

Some days it felt like someone was retaliating against him. That he was paying for something. And, sure, he had a lot to pay for. He knew that. But his boy didn't need to be involved in that process.

He slammed his hands onto the counter and then moved grabbing at the sides of it, lifting at it with an angry grunt. It barely budged. That was likely a good thing. He didn't want to be renovating his kitchen. But fuck he wanted to hit something. Break something.

He felt Erin stiffen behind him. "Hank…" she offered, sounding a little helpless. But he held up his hand to stop her.

He didn't want to hear whatever she had to say. She hadn't had anything useful to say yet. Not that he'd briefed her entirely since she came to pick them up at the hospital after shift. He'd told her enough. In his opinion. Not in hers. But he wasn't getting into then. Not with her. Not in front of Ethan.

And he sure as fuck didn't want Erin – his kid – handling him with kid gloves. He didn't need some fucking motherly touch. He needed to be the father. The parent and he needed to fix this.

Only this was beyond fixing. This wasn't something he could just fix. Just like he couldn't fix Justin – he sure as fuck couldn't fix this.

He punched at the windowsill instead. It was hard enough that his one knuckle split open. He felt the initial trail of warm blood and pulled back his hand to look at it. There was a small mark of blood on the white frame.

He let out a slow breath as he gazed at it. He should wipe it off before it stained or dried there. But he didn't. He just hung his head and stared at the fucking countertop.

He wasn't sure Ethan had absorbed much of anything that was going on. But that was Ethan. And, not that the neurologist was conducting his powwows with Hank with Ethan in earshot. Nah – they included fucking social workers and therapists when they explained the diagnosis to kids. So right now Ethan was none the wiser. Though, his son wasn't stupid. He'd known more tests were happening. He'd asked why. Hank had given him bullshit reasons: "Because the doctor says so." End of discussion.

Instead they'd all just tear down his kid's world on Wednesday. Again.

He heard the toilet flush and the sink run far too briefly and the click of the door re-opening. But it wasn't followed by footsteps on the stairs. He heard the kid entering his bedroom instead.

"Now what the fuck is he doing?" Hank mumbled angrily.

Erin stepped closer to the counter and leaned her hip against it down from him, staring at him.

"We should talk about it," she said.

"There's nothing to talk about," he said flatly.

"Hank," she sighed at him. "M.S.? There's a lot to fucking talk about."

He glared at her. "You can talk all you fucking want on Wednesday."

She shook her head at him and stared across the kitchen and out the doorway, back into the front room. "At least that means you're letting me come to the appointment," she mumbled.

He glared at her even harder and stuck his forefinger inches from her face – seething. "Do not give me any of your lip tonight," he hissed. "I will kick your ass out that door so fast—"

"Dad…?" Ethan said apprehensively.

Hank slowly forced his anger down. He wasn't even angry at Erin but she was there and he just …

He let his finger pull back, bringing his shaking hand down, and taking a deep breath and turning to face his son who had one of his binder of baseball cards clutched to his chest. He was staring at them with a touch of concern.

"Are you guys fighting again?"

"No," Erin provided on his behalf, though she cast him a look that veered between unimpressed and hurt – and she took a step away from him, moving toward the fridge to gaze in it herself.

Ethan stared at Hank for a moment longer. He was clearly weighing the situation. He knew when Hank was angry. It wasn't exactly something he masked well. The kid wouldn't want to get in the middle of it.

But after examining him silently for several long seconds, he propped the binder up a bit more. "Can you help me get the new cards in right?" he asked tentatively.

There'd been a double-pack of Topps ball cards in the bag that the Hermanns had sent along for him. The bag of junk had been a bit of a mixed blessing to have that day. Some of it was true junk. There'd been fucking farting slime. Ethan had played with it until his hands smelled like crap and until Hank couldn't stand the sound of the damn thing anymore and had taken it away from him. But the pack of cards had been a saving grace in putting in the day.

Over and over Hank had sat next to the bed reading out the fucking stats to Ethan. Brushing up on the latest-and-greatest in the world of useless baseball information that he didn't need to know but pretty much seemed like a bedtime story to his boy. Or at least something to distract him. Ethan couldn't see the little lettering on the back of the cards. He couldn't have likely read and understood it even on a better day. But he wanted to hear all the numbers. He'd babbled a bit at Hank about whether or not they'd be a decent player for fantasy baseball teams. Talked about these apps and videogames to put together your own team and play. Mostly stuff that he'd missed out on with J and Erin. But all these kids were fucking wired now.

Then he sat there and gazed at the pictures on the cards. Likely daydreaming on the little boy dreams that some how playing in the Big Leagues would still be possible. It was likely always just pie in the sky. Not realistic. But now? Even fucking Little League wasn't likely going to be realistic. At least not that summer. And, that was going to break Ethan's heart when they were already set to fucking shatter his kid that week.

So if the kid wanted to daydream – to try to forget about where they were and all the poking and prodding he was going through – and he needed Hank to list off endless numbers for him to do that, so be it. He'd read those thirty-six cards over and over again to the point he could likely recite them now. He could likely tell ya just as much as Ethan which ones he already had in his collection and which ones he'd be filing away in those pages.

But Erin turned around from the fridge. "Eth, your Dad's tired."

"I'm fine," Hank said flatly.

Erin gave him a harsher look. "I'll figure out something for dinner. You go … shower or rest or whatever."

He just glared back at her. "You're my kid," he said bluntly. "Not my mother. And not his mother. So stop acting like it."

Erin's eyes showed hurt at the comment but she just crossed her arms. "You haven't slept," she provided flatly.

He again ignored her and stepped toward his son, putting his hand on his shoulder and guiding him back toward the front room.

"Let's take a look at it," he said.

He didn't much like people living in a fantasy world but if Ethan needed one for now – he'd give him that protective bubble for a couple more days. It'd be burst soon when he was back in the hospital for another IV treatment and then to be told his body and brain weren't ever going to quite work the way he wanted it too.

This wasn't the fantasy you created for yourself as a father when you found out your wife was pregnant. It wasn't the kind of life you imagined for your kid.

No one could see the future but Hank was sure as hell that now his boy's future didn't look anything like even his pretty mild and mundane fantasies for his family had ever looked like.


	51. Screwing the Pooch

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Hank lay in his bed – his and Camille's bed – gazing at a photo of his wife. She looked so fucking happy. So fucking beautiful too. Sometimes he wondered how he'd ever made her that happy. Or maybe he didn't have much to do with it.

What kind of life had he really given her? Or their kids? He certainly hadn't provided her the kind of protection she needed and deserved to live a long life. To raise their kids. To see her grandson. He didn't know how much of a life he was giving their kids either. Especially not that day.

It was enough to make him want to just go back and get knee-deep in work again. To put all his focus and his energy on the job. On protecting the city. He seemed to do a better job at that than he did at managing his family.

He shook his head and squeezed at the bridge of his nose. He wasn't going to cry. He couldn't remember the last time he cried. Likely when he was a little boy. He wasn't raised in a household where boys cried. That wasn't something his father would've taken kindly too. Fuck. The neighborhood he lived in he would've been labeled a pussy. He would've been beaten senseless by the other kids until he really had something to cry about if he started blubbering.

Yet, somehow, this felt like one of those nights where tears might be allowed but he didn't even know how to cry even if he wanted to.

He let out a slow breath and brought his hand down, swiping his thumb along the outline of his wife's face.

"Cami, I'm really screwing the pooch on this one," he muttered to the picture.

He didn't think Camille would know any better how to deal with any of this – but she would. She'd know how to deal with Ethan's emotions. And Erin. How to even tell Justin and keep him from unraveling. Losing all the progress he'd made. How to talk about it all and make it somehow OK. Or at least manageable. She'd know how to make this work in a household. Just how the hell to get Ethan through this – this life. This fucking fucked up life their little boy was being handed.

Hank flared his nostrils and flipped to the next photo. He smiled a little at their wedding picture. They were so fucking young. Neither of them had any idea that this was what life would look like. How it would work out. He should've known better. He had enough hard-knocks of his own growing up to know better. But somehow he thought it'd be different for him. That he'd do better by Camille. That he'd do better by his kids.

"Dad …" was called tentatively from just outside the crack in his slightly ajar door.

Hank had been so focused on the pictures – so lost in his own thoughts – he hadn't even registered that his son was up and moving. But now he leaned over to his bedside table, opening the drawer and returning the photos.

"Yeah, Magoo," he allowed as he closed the drawer, and the door pushed open, Ethan gazing at him unsurely.

"Are you mad at me again?"

Hank gave him a look and shook his head. "No," he provided.

Ethan breathed slowly. "Are you mad at Erin?" he asked.

Hank sighed a bit at that but then shook his head. "No," he said.

"You guys are fighting lots," Ethan stated.

Hank made a dismissive gesture. "You know," he acknowledged, "we're a strong-headed bunch, Magoo. Sometimes we all just go at it. Is what it is."

Ethan stared at him. It was the truth. Ethan knew that. He'd seen – and heard – his share of head-butting over the years. He'd done his better to participate in some of it himself. He'd likely only get better at it with age. But that was good. Let him be stubborn. He needed that. Now more than ever.

"She seemed upset when she left," he said.

Hank drew in a breath.

Erin had been upset when she left. She didn't get the powwow she wanted. She didn't get a chance to give him her unrequested and unwanted advice and perspective. But he just needed some fucking space. He needed some time to get his head on straight to move into this next round. He was working at it. Figuring out how to get all the pieces to fall in place. Making some calls. Calling in some favors. Thinking on the best plan to move forward. How to manage all of this. A kid. An illness. A household. A unit. A career. A city. It was a lot of moving parts. He couldn't fucking drop the balls. Not this time.

He sat up a bit straighter in the bed and then let out another little sigh and threw the covers off, grabbing his tshirt and pulling it back over his head, going to the door. He put his hand on his boy's shoulder.

"It's stuffy up here," he said. "You having trouble sleeping?"

Ethan examined him. It wasn't an answer to his statement. But he eventually shrugged.

"Let's go downstairs for a bit," Hank said. "Cool off."

"It's hot down there too," Ethan muttered, but Hank just nudged his shoulder and lead him down the stairs. It was hot. Humid. The whole house felt pretty unbearable in that start of summer heatwave. At least it was Chicago. The weather was likely to change again in the next five minutes. And, it really wasn't the weather that was making the place unbearable that night anyways.

Ethan went and sat in the one armchair, bouncing his ass on it as he did and looked at Hank expectantly.

"How you doing?" he asked. "You want something to eat? Drink?"

Ethan just shrugged at him. Hank grunted at that and went into the kitchen anyways. He pulled open the freezer and took out the week-old ice cream. Ethan hadn't been eating it. Though, he sort of suspected it he was on an ice cream revolt after what had happened in the ice cream shoppe. But they'd just pretend that didn't happen that night.

Hank opened the cupboard and grabbed two bowls, getting the scoop from out of the drawer. He ran it briefly under the hot water while he got the lid off the carton and then carefully put two rather precise scoops of the Rocky Road in each bowl. He snagged a couple spoons out of the cutlery drawer and took them back into the front room. Ethan was leaning on the arm of the chair, watching him work but still rather reluctantly took the bowl when Hank held it out to him. But when he did, Hank went over to the couch and sat down, slowly taking a spoonful and letting it melt in his mouth. Ethan ate at his a bit more enthusiastically but still kept giving him cautious glances like somehow there was some sort of caveat attached to being given this midnight treat.

Rocky Road. He wondered if taste bud stuff could be genetic. It was so fucking Camille. He could take it or leave it. Lots of other flavors he'd reach for before Rocky Road. But somehow Ethan had decided it was up there as his favorite when it came to store-bought cartons too. Hank wasn't sure he'd have much of a memory of it from when he was a little kid. But he'd come to accept that Camille shone through in his youngest in more ways than one. Sometimes that felt like some sort of punishment too – more than the blessing of still having part of her around.

Hank worked on getting another little taste into his spoon, looking down at his bowl. "So, Eth," he said as he did, "your sister is going to move back in here for a bit."

Ethan glanced up and squinted. "Why?"

Hank gave a little shrug as he found his son's eyes. "Because we're going to have to be in at the hospital every day for the next bit. It will make playing taxi a bit easier on everyone."

Ethan seemed to consider that but then looked back to his bowl, mashing up the ice cream a bit. "Why can't I just take pills?" he asked.

Hank slumped his shoulders and looked back to his own bowl. "Because this IV stuff works better," he said. "They won't be long. We'll have you in-and-out. Not like the one they had you on there today."

Ethan considered that. "When will it fix my eye? Because it's not yet."

Hank moved the spoon around his bowl but didn't end up bringing another mouthful up. He did raise his eyes, though. "It's working on some of that swelling you've got in there," he provided.

"So then when it stop swelling my eye will be better?" Ethan pressed.

Hank let out a slow breath. "Then some of the pressure will be off your optical nerve," he said firmly.

Ethan gazed at him. He could tell the boy was processing that. The wheels were clicking. He wasn't getting the answer he wanted and he didn't like it. But Hank didn't want to give him false promises and false hopes. That wasn't how he operated. But he also didn't want to flat out tell the kid that his eyes weren't ever likely to work quite right again. If anything, they'd get worse. Missing peripheral vision was the least of their worries. It'd likely be one of the smaller challenges his boy was going to have to surmount and they'd already asked this kid to surmount so many fucking challenges. TO haul himself over walls most people never had to fucking get over in their lives.

"Will they have to do the back needles and all the blood stuff every day too?" Ethan finally asked instead. His voice showed his defeat.

Hank shook his head. "No," he assured. "Sure you'll get some more blood taken at some point but not every day."

Ethan sighed heavily and gazed at his bowl. "If it's only short how come I have to miss camp?" he asked.

Hank slumped back in the couch a bit and let the bowl lower into his lap. It felt cold through his shorts and he moved it to sit on the end table instead, folding his hands across his chest.

"Right now, we'll pull you out tomorrow. The doc doesn't want you running around after that spinal tap. We'll give you a couple days to rest up. Heal up. See how you're doing on these IVs and get our schedule figured out. Then we'll see about camp."

"But we're going to the reptile center this week," Ethan said meekly with palpable disappointment.

Hank let out a quiet breath. "Eth, the bus trips are on Wednesday, you wouldn't be going anyway. We've got your meeting with the docs at the Trauma Center."

Ethan's shoulders slumped at that and he gazed sadly at his bowl without comment.

Hank swiped at his mouth and leaned more against the arm of the couch. "We'll look into it. Me or your sister will take you out to the place when you're feeling up to it and we've got a day off."

"It's not the same," Ethan said quietly. "They're all going to get to touch and hold them."

Hank gave a little shrug. "Sometimes life just ain't fair, E. It is what it is."

Ethan gave him a little glance and then set his bowl on the table next to him too – apparently not interested in finishing the rest.

"So I just have to stay in my room again?" he asked quietly.

Hank shook his head. "No," he allowed. "You've got T.V. back. Sports channels and your dinosaur shows. For now. And you'll be getting your phone back tomorrow."

Ethan gave him a look. "But now I have to sit here all day and I didn't even do anything," he lamented.

Hank folded his hands again and expanded his chest in a deep breath. "I'm going to take you into the district with me tomorrow."

Ethan's eyes snapped at him. "That's even worse!" he protested. "It's so boring!"

Hank almost thought it was amusing that his son classified his work as boring. But maybe that showed that he did a good job at shielding his kid from the realities of the city. And, letting most Chicagoans have that bubble of safety – that's what he worked for. So if his son believed he was "boring", maybe he was doing something right.

"I can't have you sitting around here alone," he said. "Not right now. With how you're feeling."

"I feel fine!" Ethan interjected.

That was a lie. The kid was sore from all the poking and prodding. The fucking lumbar puncture. He was jittery and lethargic at the same time. And, he was going between complaining about being nauseated to being starving. He needed to level out before he was anything resembling "fine". Or whatever "fine" was anymore.

"Until we see how you're doing and how we're going to manage this – we'll set you up in the office or lounge," Hank put back to him sternly. "And you're just going to have to entertain yourself."

Ethan just gazed at the floor and didn't offer comment. He likely didn't see the point. He knew that Hank would just feed him the line that life wasn't fair.

Thing was the kid didn't know how much it actually pained him to have to tell him that. Life wasn't fair but you still wanted more for your kids. Some justice. He wanted Ethan's life to be a little fairer than it was.

"Does this mean J isn't coming home now too?" Ethan asked finally.

Hank shook his head. "No," he said. "Your brother will be home. He's going to want to see you."

Ethan looked up giving him suspicious eyes. "Why?" he asked.

"Because you're his brother," he provided.

Ethan let out a slow exhale. He clearly wasn't buying that half-assed answer either. He was reading between the lines.

"What about baseball?" he asked.

"The doctor says you need to be resting for the next forty-eight, Ethan," Hank put back to him.

"What about after that?" Ethan demanded a bit more forcibly.

Hank gave him a look. "Ethan," he said plainly, "right now you're having trouble seeing, you're having steroids pumped into you, and you aren't feeling very well. Do you really think you're up to playing baseball?"

"Yes!" Ethan pressed.

Hank just shook his head. "Not right now," he said. "We'll talk about it with the doctors on Wednesday. We'll see how you're doing over the next week or so."

"You said I could play baseball this summer," Ethan said dejectedly going back to looking at the ground.

"And maybe you will still play baseball this summer – but not for the next forty-eight hours and not until we talk to the doctors about it and see how you're doing on this new medication."

"Why am I even on this stupid new medication if it's not going to fix my eye?" Ethan demanded, his nostrils flaring.

"Because it's going to help with the swelling and inflammation," Hank said sternly. "It's what the doc wants you one."

Ethan glared. "You aren't telling me anything!"

Hank bounced his hands over his chest and eyed his son. "I'm telling you want you need to know right now. You let me worry about the rest of it."

"You're taking everything away! And I haven't even done anything! I've been doing real good since school!"

Hank allowed a little nod. "You have, son," he agreed.

"Then it's not fair you're mad at me again. I didn't mean for my eye to get hurt so much!"

Hank let out a slow breath and looked at the floor for a moment. "E, the problem with your eyes has nothing to do with that fight. I'm not mad about my kid needing some medical attention."

"But you're punishing me again!" he accused.

Hank sat back in his chair. "Ethan, this is not me punishing you. It is me taking care of you."

The boy looked up angrily and awkwardly pulled himself upright from the chair. "You're not doing a very good job!" he spat and took his staggering gaits toward the stairs.

Hank just looked after him and didn't argue the point – because Ethan had a point. Hank didn't feel like he was doing a very good job of it either.


	52. Another Notch

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Erin pounded on Jay's door with an open hand – unrequited – until he finally opened it and gave her a slightly annoyed look.

"Hey," he said.

She grunted vaguely and pushed by him without even being invited in, stripping off her coat as she did.

"Uh … OK …" Jay said and closed his door, looking after her.

She turned back around and faced him. Considered him a moment and than stepped forward, near throwing herself at him, as her hands found his face and her mouth found his.

He seemed startled and barely did anything that remotely resembled even trying to kiss her back, despite her pretty much being ready to shove her tongue down this throat. His hands steadied on her biceps and pushed her back from him, giving her a gentle look.

"Hey, hey, hey," he soothed. "You want to slow this down a bit."

She shook her head and leaned back into him, catching his lower lip in her teeth that time to the point it pulled slightly away from his teeth-line as he again pushed her back. His hand came up to his lip as it released and snapped back into place. He gave her a disapproving look.

"Erin," he sighed.

"Just shut up, Jay," she demanded and moved in again.

But he pressed his hand into her shoulder and stopped her. "No," he said firmly and looked at her with concerned eyes. "I'm not into this."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Sex? Since when?"

He let out an annoyed breath and looked at the ceiling – still holding her in place firmly with a strong pressed palm near in the center of her breastplate.

"Anger fucking," he said flatly.

Erin shrugged at him. "It's this or I'm headed to Bunny's bar to hear some great philosophy about blood and family."

"Oh, that sounds like a good plan," Jay said sarcastically. "Given the choice of Bunny or Voight when getting philosophy on blood and family. Bunny should definitely be the first stop. She really seems like she gets it."

Erin gave him a look. "At she'll be willing to talk to me," she provided.

"Hmm," Jay acknowledged. "Yeah. A real barstool therapist. Maybe while you're there you can pick up … what was his name again?"

"Landon," Erin provided flatly. She didn't really care she could see some anger starting to radiate off him. Maybe the anger would get him to do what she wanted.

"Landon," Jay put back to her. "He seemed like a real nice guy. Maybe he can get you some … what was it?" She didn't answer that one. "Shove it up your nose again. Set a real good example to be setting for your little brother."

She rolled her eyes and pulled away from him, moving to pick up where she'd tossed her jacket. "Un-fucking-believable," she muttered.

Jay scoffed. "Me?" he put back to her. "You come here and throw yourself at me because what? You're mad at dad? You're upset about what's going on with Ethan? Real mature Erin."

She just shook her head and moved to go by him, to go back out the door. To go to Plan B. Get fucked up somewhere else. Tie one on. Because – yeah – that night, she couldn't cope. And she just needed some distraction for a bit. Someway to shut it down and shut it off. And, if Jay wasn't willing to help her with that – she'd do it elsewhere in ways that would likely numb the pain a hell of a lot better than some meaningless sex. But before she could get very far, Jay's hand rammed into her shoulder – hard.

"Maybe you want to try talking about it," he put to her. "It tends to be the route the grown-ups in the room take."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Whatever, Jay," she muttered, and moved to step by him again. But he stepped to block her path.

He glared at her. "Do you need to hear it again?" he spat. She refused to look at him, just gazing off at nothing on the opposite side of him. "I care about you. I'm not your boss. I'm not your dad. And, I fucking care – and right now you're being fucking stupid, Erin."

Her eyes drilled into him at that. "Move," she demanded and went to step by him again.

He stepped backward at that and pressed his hand firmly against the door. Now it would be a battle to get it open even if she tried. She didn't doubt she could likely fight passed him. She could probably take him down if she really wanted to. But she wasn't sure she really wanted to.

"I want a real relationship with you," he said. "I'm not your call service. You can't show up to fuck and then just walk away. I'm not into that."

She snorted. "Don't even try it," she said.

He gave her a look. "Really?" he said completely unimpressed.

She shrugged. "You forget we're friends, Jay?" she said. "Know your escapades. Seen the saunter after you've added a notch to your bedpost."

"You are not a notch on my bedpost," he said. And he gave her the eyes.

She glared at him – trying to ignore them. But it just made her look away. She couldn't do it. She couldn't compete with that look. Instead it made the real source of the anger – the underlying worry and fear – flood over her again and she felt her eyes glass.

"Erin, Voight isn't going to give you a pass again if you fall down the rabbit hole again. Not when it has implications for work and his family," Jay pressed. "And, you're never going to forgive yourself if you fucking check out on Ethan."

She just shook her head hard, keeping it shaking in an effort to stop – or in the very least hide – the tears that were threatening to come out.

"He won't fucking talk to me, Jay," she said. "Ethan's really sick and Hank won't even fucking tell me everything that went on today. He doesn't even want me there."

Jay gave her a sympathetic look and finally dropped his hand away from the door – stepping closer to her and wrapping his arms around her in a hug. She buried her face in his shoulder, still willing herself not to cry. She didn't want to be a blubbering idiot around him again. She didn't want to be one at all.

"So talk to me instead," he said. "We'll figure it out."

"If Hank doesn't know how to fix this," she mumbled against him, "how the hell are we supposed to figure it out?"

Jay shrugged against her and wrapped his arms around her tighter, resting his cheek on the crown of her head. "I don't know," he said. "We can both be pretty fucking resourceful."


	53. Watch

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

 *****WARNING**** CHAPTER IS M RATED. There's some dialogue at the end for people who want to skip over the rest. It is marked with another bold notification.**

Erin wasn't sure what they were doing. She wasn't sure how she felt about what they were doing. Because this wasn't sex to her. It was way to slow and gentle. Jay was being way too attentive. Giving. It definitely wasn't how she usually had sex. It wasn't even how her and Jay had been previously. They pretty much fucked. They had fun. This wasn't that. It wasn't that it wasn't fun. Maybe it was. It felt nice – in its own way – a very different way than she was used to. It's just that it was actually feeling really exposed and awkward in it.

She didn't really look at men during sex. She hadn't since she was about sixteen years old and thought she was in love. But she wasn't in loved – or at least she wasn't loved. And, she didn't much think she'd loved anyone – not romantically – since then either.

And, that was OK. It gave more legitimacy to not looking at each other. It made it clear what things were and what they weren't. It was just sex. And she was just someone they were using to get them off. She could handle that. She'd learned how to use men to get off – to get distracted, to have an orgasm, to feel something else – when she needed it too. They didn't need to look at her. She didn't want to see them anyways. Or really – see their eyes and what was behind them in that moment. And, she knew they didn't either. They were just taking what they wanted and she pretty much provided the vessel for that. And, she just set herself up to be in a position to get what she wanted or needed in a particular moment too. She didn't need to look at them. She didn't want to. She didn't want them to see her. It was just sex.

Jay had always made it a bit more than just sex. But she'd also been sure to keep it as just sex. She'd been careful not to get too close – while still knowing she was getting too close. She'd been careful to make sure they were just having fun. They were getting off. They were getting what they wanted out of it. They were getting off. They didn't need more than that.

But that night he was pushing the bounds. Really pushing them. He'd pushed them when they'd talked. When he'd made her talk. But she'd wanted to talk. She needed to talk. She didn't even know entirely what she was talking about. Thanks to Hank. Or no thanks to Hank. But that needed to be talked about too. She needed to put it all out there in the universe to try to make it real. To try to figure out how to deal with it so she could sort it away into little boxes to deal with in a more manageable way later. To hear someone else say that it could all be managed. Somehow.

But the talking had only lasted so long. And, really the talking was a foreplay of its own. She'd bared herself to him. Not just herself – her family. That was intimate whether she wanted it to be or not. And the exposure had eventually lead to real foreplay – physical foreplay. But he'd slowed them right down when the foreplay did even start. When she tired to speed it up he kept pulling back. Making them take their time. And he kept on looking at her. Really looking at her. She almost couldn't get away from his eyes. And, every time she did look away he was slowing or stopping and telling her to look at him.

The eye contact had been really jarring. It was just hard. She's struggled with it. To the point that she was almost ready to pull away. To stop. To run away from it. But he'd sort of made her relax. Or really, he was fingering her so expertly at the point she was thinking about calling it off, that she'd managed to just let herself push by the awkwardness and just enjoy what he was doing even though it meant letting him look at her. Thankfully she hadn't had to look at him directly through all of it. There was the kissing too. Kissing – despite softly moaning, panting a little uncomfortable against him as she tried to relax and get there – had been a good way to avoid direct eye contact even if it meant more labored breathing mechanics while trying to orgasm. There hadn't been that much try involved. He did the work and soon enough she was withering against him.

He'd let her close her eyes then – and while she came down for it. Her labored breathing expanding and collapsing her chest. She could still feel him gazing at her and she felt slightly embarrassed. She didn't need that close of examination of her climax. But when she finally let herself open them, he was still gazing at her with that impish smile on his face. She couldn't tell if he was amused at her rather animated orgasm or if he was a little smitten that he'd managed to do that.

She'd figured the best way to wipe the grin off his face was the same as before – to capture his mouth with hers. Cover it up with a kiss.

But now he was pursuing his own orgasm and he was definitely the one dictating the eye contact and the kissing too. He didn't seem in any hurry to reach his climax either. He was moving so languidly against her. There was so much physical contact in their positioning. So much skin-to-skin and he kept slowly trailing his one hand from her buttocks along her thigh and to her knee and as far as he could reach down her calf – while propping himself up on his opposite elbow. Then his hand would move to gently tracing along her ribs and cupping her breast. To the sensitive skin along her neck and brushing her hair from her face for her – only to lean in for a kiss again.

It did feel nice. Even though it was strange for it to be that slow – that gentle – for a man to actually be giving her body that much attention when it was clearly "his turn". "His turn" when he'd actually already been gentlemanly enough to ensure she got "her turn" and that she hadn't had to just manage that responsibility on her own. Hadn't had to be the one pushing to reach it or taking the matter entirely into her own hands. But the strangeness of it meant that she kept looking away – finding a spot on the ceiling to stare at. Only to have Jay say yet again, "Look at me," far to gently. Not angry. Not urgently. Just a request – a request he clearly wanted. That he felt was important.

She could tell he was getting close. She could hear the changes in his breathing. She could feel the changes in his movements. He'd readjusted himself slightly and was entering her from a slightly different angle. A more urgent leverage as a bit more of his weight rested on top of her. And she again looked away. She didn't want to see that look in his eyes when he came. That flash across his face. She didn't want to know that about Jay.

"It's OK," he whispered at little breathlessly. "Watch." She shook her head a little but he said a little more firmly, "Look at me."

She let out a slow breath and brought her eyes back to his. They were dilated with his arousal at that point. They were almost glassy with it. He wasn't likely focused on her even though they were sharing a line of sight. She could actually tell that he seemed to be struggling a bit too to maintain the contact – his physical needs taking over. But there wasn't this animalistic urge creasing his face. There wasn't some sort of urgency where her body was clearly just providing a means to an end for him. It was still Jay above her. And, it suddenly flooded over her how vulnerable he was letting himself be in that moment too.

His brow was creased in concentration and effort. A small sheen of sweat. He was still propping himself up to they weren't going cross-eyed in their examination of each other and his muscles were straining under it. His chest developing a sheen of its own to accompany the flushing. He hung his head a pull times – usually accompanied by a small sound of his labored pleasure – but he'd snap it back up and find her eyes again as soon as he realized they'd lost contact.

There was something insanely intimate about it. It hit Erin in a way she didn't entirely expect – and she suddenly found her hands roaming against him, trailing her nails along his back and ass. Holding his hips tightly as they did their dance against her. He was sexy in those moments. So fucking sexy. He was a mess. His breaths were starting to become more like pants. His eyes were entirely unfocused even though they were directed all at her. His chest was heaving. He was dripping some sweat on her. And he was making some noises as he pushed through the painful pleasure of those final seconds before orgasm. Erin found herself reaching to cup his face – to run her thumbs gentle over the sparse beard on his cheeks as he made that last push. And, then his head snapped back a bit as he did go over the edge. He let out a quiet guttural sound, followed be a little murmur. She smiled at it. She didn't cringe at it. She didn't look away.

This movements against her slowed and stopped, though his chest continued to rise and fall heavily, as he calmed. His head fell back into place. His eyelids heavy. But Erin propped herself up on her own elbow and found his lips – kissing him deeply, passionately – and he returned it.

She slinked back down a bit and he opened his eyes, again giving her that smile. Proud of himself? Sated? Likely a little of both. But it made her grin too and he leaned forward on his own and kissed her again. That time when they broke away, he pulled out of her and settled on his side next to her, still staring at her now fully exposed body. She found herself reaching for the sheets under the examination – trying to find where they'd been kicked or tossed. But he reached and stilled her hand.

"Don't," he said gently.

She gave him a bit of a patronizing look. "I think you've seen all these is to see here," she told him.

He smiled a bit and shook his head. "I don't," Jay provided. "You're easy on the eyes."

She snorted at him and reached down the bed again. He let her get the sheet about part way up but stilled it around her thighs, as he hand landed here and caressed. His eyes following his hand – though she could tell he was more likely staring at her flushed and glistening sex than anything his hand was doing.

"Did me to …?" he asked and gave her an innocent enough look.

She rolled her eyes and yanked the sheet up over her. "I think you did fine the first time," she said.

He shrugged a little. "I can do better on the second," he said. She smacked him in the shoulder at that but it just made him smile more. "Practice makes perfect." His hand trailed up her leg closer to her apex. The sensation of him being that close to her still sensitive arousal made her body prickle a bit more with anticipation and desire.

 ***** RETURN TO T RATING*****

But she made herself glance around his bedroom. "What time is it?' she asked. She didn't want for him to answer. "I should go."

He pulled his hand out from under the sheets at that and her body protested a bit at its sudden absence – the loss of opportunity. He tucked some of her hair behind her hair again. "You should stay," he said.

"I need to change before work," she provided.

He shrugged. "So – we'll swing by your place before we go in."

She sighed at him. "Jay –"

He cut her off. "You shouldn't be alone tonight," he said a bit more firmly. "You'll end up over-thinking. Digging yourself that hole again."

She did look away from him at that – gazing at the ceiling. "I'll be fine, Jay."

"Right now you are," he said. "So stay. I'll give you another distraction." His hand started to trail under the sheets again but she swatted him away.

He gave her a frown and settled down more into the bed, more carefully drawing the hair from her face, working to remove each stray strand.

"You're amazing, you know," he said eventually.

She scoffed and gave him a look. "You already got laid. You don't have to sweet talk."

He shook his head. "That wasn't getting laid."

She let out a slow breath and looked away. "Don't Jay," she said firmly.

"It wasn't," he put flatly.

"I don't want to do this right now," she said with a small edge. "It was nice. I had fun. Thank you."

He snorted and shook his head, staring out door of his room into the living space. "Yeah, sure," he said flatly. "Glad I could oblige."

She shot him a look and he found her eyes. The annoyance dimmed. "Just stay," he said. "In case you want to talk again."

"There's nothing to talk about," she said.

He shrugged. "We can talk again about there not being anything to talk about. It will be good practice for when there's something to talk about."

She sighed at him. There was too much to talk about. It was just going to take a long time to get used to actually talking – especially to him.


	54. The Loop

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Hank put his hand on Ethan's head as he guided him into Mouse's little back lair. Ethan seemed kind of unsure about it –but they'd come in the back door to get there and it wasn't a door he usually took his boy through. The way the kid was looking around it was clear he definitely got that only certain people came in the door for certain reasons. Lucky for him the only reason that day was that it was the door closest to the communications and tech lab. And, it was an easy way to get Ethan into the building without drawing a whole lot of attention to the fact he was there.

Mouse gazed up at him from behind the counter as they entered and then his eyes shifted slightly to take in Ethan. Hank watched his eyes, seeing a flicker there as he took in his son's visible injuries. The acknowledgement that Mouse had likely seen as bad or worse while he was overseas. The way he twitched away from looking at it, just provided another reminder too that the guy likely had similar invisible injuries to his boy too. Weird dude. But he was doing the job. Hank would give him that.

And, really even though he wasn't going to have a heart-to-heart with Mouse and ask him what had happened to him that prompted him to be so skittish that he'd ended up medical discharge. Nor was he going to give him his son's life story. But he did know there was enough similarities in what he saw that Hank thought that Ethan being around a supposedly grown man who was dealing with some of the challenges he was experiencing might be an eye-opener to him. Some sort of hope that he could lead a life. Maybe a little weird one. But Mouse had a life. A job. Co-workers. Some friends. Cashflow. He could make do. That's ultimately what you really wanted for your kids.

"This is my son," Hank rasped at him. "Ethan."

Mouse's eyes shifted back to Ethan a bit. "Hey," he provided.

"Hey," Ethan said quietly.

Hank leaned on the counter and looked down to see what Mouse had been puttering with. Looked like he was troubleshooting some of the wires and bugs. Probably nothing too pressing.

He shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out Ethan's phone and set it in front of the boy-man. Mouse gazed at it questioningly for a moment and then looked up at him again.

"Need a favor," Hank said and reached and tapped the phone. "Want you to wipe it clean of all the shit he's got on there. Then I want you to install some tracking nanny software."

"Spyware," Mouse provided with a slight indignation edge to his voice as he cast another look to Ethan. But Ethan was busy examining the floor.

Hank shrugged. "Whatever you want to call it," he said. "After you got that done, you show him just how quickly you can crack into this thing if I don't like anything I'm seeing."

Mouse just gazed at him. But Hank didn't wait for a response of agreement. He nudged Ethan instead, and grabbed an old wooden chair from the corner, setting it in front of the counter instead – more out of the line of sight from the door and out of the way. He nodded at it and his son took a seat.

"No big rush," Hank said. "He'll wait. Bring him and the phone up when you're done. Take your time."

Mouse just looked at him more with some disbelief and a touch of apprehension. But again Hank didn't react to it, just giving his son's shoulder a squeeze.

"See you in a bit," he offered.

Ethan only shrugged and Hank didn't press it. He exited the room – leaving the two of them be. Maybe they'd talk. Maybe they wouldn't. He didn't much care.

"Call up if he's giving you any trouble," Hank told Mouse just as he went around the corner and headed up to his bullpen the back-way.

Erin was already at her desk when he got up there. They all were actually. He wasn't late. But he was late for him – because he was usually always early. First cop in the door. Just the way he was. Always had been. But Ethan tended to slow him down a bit. He'd done a good job at it that morning. Dawdling. Hadn't wanted to come in. Not that he had a choice.

"Erin," Hank called from the side hallway.

She looked up from the file she seemed engaged in – or at least pretending to be engaged in – and he gestured for her to come over. He could see from her eyes that she didn't much want to either. She was annoyed and frustrated with him. But she rarely verbalized that in front of the others. He got the body language, though. Lots. She'd become pretty expert at that. Definitely the kind of thing that only your kids truly perfected but made him feel like he was still dealing with a teenager sometimes.

Still her rose from her desk and took her sweet-ass time sauntering across the room. He just pointed down the hallway and lead the way into the interrogation room, holding the door open for her. She cocked her head at him, giving him an even more unimpressed look but stepped inside and crossed her arms as he closed the door.

Hank just held out his arms at her. She gave him a skeptical look at the start and didn't budge.

"Come here," he said gravelly.

She stared at him a beat longer but then let out a little sigh and stepped forward, letting him wrap his arms around her. He held her in a tight hug for a moment and then rubbed her back a couple times until she relaxed a bit. She wasn't as stiff as a board against him, resisting the peace offering he was providing.

He stepped back from her, holding her at arm's length, keeping his hands planted on her biceps.

"I've got a plan," he assured her.

She made a small noise and looked away – clearly unimpressed.

He gave her a little shake. "Hey," he said gently – but with a firmness – and she glanced back. "I'm getting it all sorted."

"OK, Hank," she shrugged. "Whatever you say."

He sighed and gave her a frown. "I want you to go home tonight and pack some things for the week," he said more gently. "Then come over and we'll talk."

She crossed her arms a bit as she looked at him. "I want to actually talk about this, Hank. To understand what's happening. To be a part of it. To have my voice heard before you're making decisions. I don't want to just be talked at. Told."

He nodded – ever so slightly. "We'll talk," he assured.

She sighed and went back to gazing at a wall. He knew she was weighing if she actually believed him. But let her think on it. He knew that no matter what she believed she'd still show up that night. She always did. She would for Ethan.

"He's downstairs," Hank told her. "Fine. With Mouse."

She rolled her eyes at that and looked at him. "With Mouse?" she said with some clear disapproval.

But he just shrugged at her. "You should go see him, after …" he said and reached to pull open the door, again curling his finger to direct her to follow him.

She let out a disgusted sound at him but did oblige. He lead the way and moved quickly through the bullpen.

"Antonio," he barked and then turned to search to see with Alvin was hiding in the crevices. "Alvin," he ordered more flatly when he spotted him and went into the office. He held the door until the two men and Erin entered, and then shut the door, going to stand at the corner of his desk.

He crossed his arms tightly and examined the three for a moment. Antonio and Erin were all mirroring about the same positioning in the various spots they'd claimed. Alvin had slouched into the chair. This didn't faze him in the least. Very little did.

"Ethan's got a health issue going on," Hank said flatly. "So that means I've got some things outside these doors that need my attention. He's going to need to be making trips into the hospital daily for the next bit.

"So how this is going to work is that I'll take him one day, Erin's going to take him the next," he said and nodded at her. She returned the nod. "

Now I'm working at getting these things scheduled so we get the latest possible slot in the day but we all know dirt-bags don't work on business hours. So if I need to be here, I'll be here. But if my son needs me more – that's where I'm at.

"When I'm not here you two need to make sure the wheels don't fall off this machine," he said, jutting his chin a bit in Alvin and Antonio's directions.

"And, you need to make sure the rest of these jokers," he added, nodding out through the windows where he could see Halstead gazing their way. He let out a little huff at that and shook his head a bit. Guy always wanted to know everything that was going on. Didn't seem he understood what 'need to know' or confidential meant sometimes. He didn't need to know. He already knew enough and he didn't doubt that Erin would be filling him in the rest whether he liked it not.

"Their heads are in the game. They aren't all wrapped up in my family business," Hank added and looked at Erin too. "That goes for you too. When you're here, you're here. If you can't do that—"

"Got it," she said flatly.

He allowed a little nod but he didn't doubt that it was going to be a discussion they'd be having again. Her head needed to be in the fucking game.

He found Antonio's eyes. "Got it?" he put to him.

"Sure, boss," he allowed.

Hank gave a little nod and then gestured at his door. "Go," he said and Antonio immediately popped it open and disappeared out. Erin started to follow but when Alvin went to rise Hank grunted to indicate he should stay and he settled back down. Erin gave him another look at that but pulled the door shut.

Hank went and sat back in his desk, leaning back in his chair. Alvin just looked at him. He wouldn't ask or say anything. That's how their communication worked.

"Lexi end up finding a summer job?" Hank asked.

Alvin made a sound at that and rolled his eyes, moving his toothpick to the opposite side of his mouth. "Does a groupie for her boyfriend's band count?" he asked.

Hank snorted and shook his head, bringing his fingertips together. "Teenaged girls, man," he said.

"Mmm," Alvin acknowledged and shifted his gaze to looking out the window.

Hank let out a slow breath. "Think she'd be interested in making some dough?"

Alvin's eyes shifted back. "Ethan?" he asked flatly.

Hank shrugged. "I can't have him sitting around alone all day right now. And him in here?" He snorted and shook his head looking out the window.

"Camp not going to work out?" Alvin asked flatly.

Hank scrubbed at his face. "Don't know. Have to make some calls. Not sure it's a good idea."

"Gonna tell me what they're saying?" Alvin put out there when Hank had kept gazing out the window.

He shifted his chair to face him again. "M.S.," he said evenly and then gestured at his eye. "With optical something-or-other. Lost his peripheral vision."

Alvin just looked at him. He was old school too. He didn't do emotions. Didn't do chit-chat. Didn't need to be girls crying into their pints of ice cream about the woes of their lives. But he could see in Alvin's eyes he got it. They'd known each other long enough. Done the job. Seen the kids grow up. He knew how it was. In his own way. From his own challenges.

"Because of his—" Alvin asked and pointed absently at his own head. Alvin didn't like verbalizing what had happened to Ethan either. Or Camille. They just didn't talk about it. They talked around it.

"Mmm," Hank grunted.

Alvin let out a slow breath, shifting in his seat and shaking his head. "Man …" he allowed quietly.

Hank shrugged. "So they're going to pump some steroids and other shit into him and then … we'll see where we're at."

"How's he taking it?"

Hank let out a rapid exhale. "Ethan … " but he shrugged and shook his head. "He's not all there, Al."

Alvin gave him a sad smile. "He just operates on a different plane, man," he offered.

Hank snorted at that and rubbed at his face again. "More like another fucking dimension," he muttered.

He pulled his hand away from his tired eyes as the door to his office barged open.

"Hey, Sarge," Ruzek said, sticking his head in.

"Do you know how to fucking knock?" Hank demanded.

Ruzek looked at him and then his eyes drifted to see Alvin, who rotated his head back to look at the fucking officer he'd dragged into their unit. As cocky as fuck and still no fucking sense half the time. But somewhere in him was good police if they ever got all his rough edges sanded down.

"Oh, hi, Al," he said. "I thought you were alone."

Hank made an annoyed gesture at him like that didn't answer his original question. Because it didn't. But Ruzek still didn't budge.

"Get out," he put bluntly since he wasn't catching onto the visual cues.

"Oh," Ruzek said and started to retreat, closing the door but then pushed it open again in some kind of after-thought. "Ah, I came in to tell you that that NYPD sergeant … Benson? Is on the line for you."

Hank made a more annoyed sound and looked across his desk at Alvin who just worked at extracting himself out of the chair and moseying to the door.

"Keep me in the loop," he said. "I'll talk to Lexi."

"Mmm…" Hank grunted at him in acknowledgement. Then as Alvin exited, he reached and snatched up the phone, pressing angrily at the flashing light of the held line. "Voight," he barked into it.

This call better not be making his day any shittier than it already was.


	55. Not Fair

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Mouse stuck his head up and said very defensively, "I haven't had a chance to do it yet," as soon as Erin stepped into his little lair.

She gave him a look and shrugged. "OK," she offered and then just pointed at Ethan.

She wasn't really interested in how long Mouse was or wasn't taking to do something. And, really she was just happy Hank was having someone else do his dirty work. She didn't want to be the one responsible for setting up Ethan's phone the way Hank wanted so he could spy on his son. At this point she didn't even really know what Hank expected to spy on anyways. It sounded like Ethan's summer had pretty much be turned into some sort of prison sentence out of no real fault of his own. The sad irony in all of this was that the fight he'd gotten in in the first place that actually got him sent home was turning into a blessing. It meant that this was being caught and dealt with now. If not when would've it? She was starting to wonder. It might've been a situation of the buck getting passed and blinders being put on and Ethan putting up fronts with them when he did see them. It could've been months – maybe even a year or more – more before the fully extent of what was happening inside his body was realized. So in some weird way it was almost a good thing he'd gotten expelled. It'd gotten him sent home – and that's where he needed to be.

He glanced up at her from a chair he was slumped in, staring down at his hands. She realized he had a little plastic dinosaur in it. It made her smile. He was still such a little kid even if he was too grown up in some ways – and having to deal with things that were far too grown up.

She pulled over a chair and sat down next to him. "Who's that?" she asked.

He looked back at the toy. "Gorgosaurus," he said quietly. "Montana."

"Montana," she said teasingly. "Good name."

He gave her an annoyed look. "It's where they lived."

She smiled and nudged him a little with her shoulder. "You don't say?" she offered. "And, I just thought Montana was a cool name. Montana Jones."

He rolled his eyes. "Indiana," he said flatly.

"What dinosaurs lived there?" she asked. Not that she really cared.

He shrugged. "None," he provided. "But mastodons did."

"Those are the prehistoric elephants," she allowed.

He gave her a look like she was stupid. "Kind of," he provided. But then shook his head. "You don't really know anything about any of this stuff."

She shrugged at him. "I might need to brush up a bit," she allowed. "You can get me up to speed when we go to the museum."

"Yeah," he said dejectedly. "If dad even lets us go. Apparently I'm too sick to do anything but sit here."

Erin nodded and slouched back in her chair, looking across at the cinderblock wall that Ethan had likely be left staring at for the past couple hours.

"Yep," she agreed. "This is definitely pretty boring."

He gave a little snort at that and cast her an amused look. She nudged at the backpack between his feet with her food. "You got anything else in there?" she asked.

Ethan shrugged. "Lunch," he said flatly.

"Lunch?" she said in a fake gasp. "Don't you know that everyone in a cop shop eats out at lunch? And if you aren't going out – someone will be bringing something back. Packed lunch?" she made a pahshaw sound.

"It's even worse because we had like nothing in the fridge," he added.

Erin just made a face and shook her head. "Well, I don't think you'll be eating that."

Mouse peeked over the counter. "I'll eat it," he offered.

Ethan looked at him like he was a freak and then gave her a look that expressed just as much. The way she was looking at him must've communicated a similar sentiment because he wordlessly sunk back behind the lip of the counter out of sight again.

Erin reached into her pocket and pulled out a pack of cards and tapped it against his knee.

"I found these upstairs for you," she said. He looked at them and hesitantly took them. "You remember all those card games your mom taught us when we'd go to the cabin and be bored?"

"Not really," Ethan said.

"Mmm," Erin nodded. "Well, I remember. Because you know what? Your mom and your dad loved to play cards. Your dad – still plays cards. What do you think he does at his social club?"

"Drinks beer," Ethan said flatly.

Mouse snorted a laugh at that out of sight and both her and Ethan again looked in that direction. He couldn't see them but he must've sensed the glare and he fell silent almost immediately.

"He likely does that too," Erin said. "But he's been known to play a hand or two." That wasn't exactly all Hank did there but that wasn't exactly something you got into with a twelve-year-old.

"I don't have anyone to play with," Ethan said.

Erin shrugged. "That's OK. I can teach you solitaire." He gave her a look. "It's a game you can play by yourself."

"That sounds stupid," he said.

"Mmm," she shrugged. "It's not as stupid as it sounds."

Ethan just made an unimpressed sound but he did open the deck and slowly look through it like he was looking through some of his baseball cards and not just a standard deck of playing cards.

Erin watched him for a minute. He looked so tired and the chairs they were sitting on where so uncomfortable. Considering that the mandated lack of activity was because of the procedures they'd done on his spine this seemed like a pretty piss poor seating arrangement. More likely to cause back problems than sooth any discomfort he was having.

"How you feeling, Eth?" she asked. He just shrugged and she gave him a frown, reaching and running her hand through his hair until he leaned into it a bit and gave her a glance. "Your dad said he didn't think you slept much last night." He just shrugged again and she frowned at him deeper. "Was your back bothering you? Or your tummy? The medicine?"

Another shrug but this time he added quietly. "It's just real hot," he said.

She gave a little nod and scrubbed at his hair one last time before dropping her hand away. "Yeah, it's kind of gross right now," she agreed. "But it will be nice for the long weekend, right?"

Another shrug. "I likely won't be allowed to do anything then either."

She gave him a little smile and tried to light up her eyes for me. "Are you kidding me?" she said. "Justin and Olive are going to be home. You know how excited Olive is to get to meet you?" Another little shrug. "So excited," Erin provided him. "And Justin? He definitely wants to hang out with you. Your dad – he's going to cook up that whole menu you organized." Ethan gave her a little glance at that and she gave him a little nudge. "Hamburgers. 'Wurst. Corn-on-the-cob. Potato salad. Strawberry shortcake. Watermelon. It sounds like a feast to me."

Ethan eyed her suspiciously. "Are we going to the fireworks?" he asked cautiously.

"Are we going to the fireworks?" she put back to him like it was about the stupidest question ever. "Do you even have to ask? You know your dad knows all the best spots to see the fireworks – and the exact time to get there so we have the absolute best, unbeatable view."

"Now you're just being stupid," he said.

She shrugged. "OK," she said. "But it sounds like a pretty good Fourth of July to me. I'm excited."

"You are not," Ethan contended.

"I am too," Erin said and nudged him more.

He just sighed at her and went back to gazing at the cards, slowly sorting through them. "You're trying to be nice because you feel sorry for me about the hospital stuff," he muttered.

She sighed and watched him for a moment, giving the counter another glance. She knew Mouse was still there and likely still listening. She didn't really like that.

"Hey, Mouse," she called and his head popped up again. "Can you give us a few?"

He looked at her – clearly a little unimpressed – but he let out a small huff and the rolling chair rattled and he rose and wandered further into the back. She waited until she heard the sound of the storage cage clatter shut – suitably assured he was likely out of earshot by then unless he really wanted to eavesdrop and she didn't think that was quite Mouse's still even if he was a bit of a wiretap and technology hacking expert.

"Has your dad talked to you about how things are going to be the next while?" she asked as she turned her attention back to Ethan.

He gave a little shrug. "I guess."

Erin allowed a nod. "OK? So he told you that I'm going to come stay with you guys for a while?"

"Yea," Ethan said hesitantly and then slowly brought concerned eyes up to her. "Are you guys going to be fighting all the time?"

She gave him a sad smile at that. "No," she said evenly. "But, Eth, me and your dad – sometimes we fight. Just like you get upset with him or frustrated or don't like something he has to say – I do too. Same with Justin. We all argue sometimes. All families do."

"But now you're fighting about me," he said quietly.

She gave him a thin smile and a little nod. "A bit," she agreed. "But that's only because we both care about you and we want to make sure things work out the best they can."

"The best they can is I get to go to baseball and boxing and summer camp," Ethan said with some force.

"Well, we're working on that," she allowed, "and maybe soon you'll be doing all that again."

Ethan huffed and looked back down again.

"Listen," she said, "things are going to get easier. We just have to figure out how all this works."

"What works?" he asked giving her a quizzing look.

"How this IV stuff works," she said. "How long it's going to take and how you're going to feel after it."

"I feel fine," he muttered.

"Mmm," Erin allowed a little patronizingly. "Because you seem a little tired and a little grumpy to me."

He shot her daggers. "I'm grumpy because dad sucks—"

"Don't say that about your dad," she told him sternly.

He just glared and didn't respond. "And, I'm tired because the house is stupid hot."

"We're going to work on that tonight," she said. "We're going to stop on the way home and see about getting a couple more fans. Fancy pants ones. No wind tunnels for us."

"We need air conditioning," Ethan said harshly. "Who doesn't have air conditioning? He doesn't have air conditioning. He doesn't have a laptop. He doesn't have a dishwasher and he doesn't have a videogame console. It's like he's a dinosaur."

"You should really like him then," Erin teased – but said it with an edge.

Ethan didn't like the joke and looked away from her again.

"Your dad is actually going to go check out a window unit," she provided. "He doesn't want you being so hot. You need your sleep. And, I'm sure the eight-month pregnant lady coming to visit on the weekend will appreciate it too."

Ethan examined her and let out a slow, exaggerated breath before muttering, "He'll probably put it in his room."

Erin shrugged. "Does it matter?" she asked. "Open door policy, Ethan," she teased. "And the upstairs isn't that big."

He just sighed. She gave his shoulder a squeeze.

"So your dad is going to take you over to the hospital today," she told him. "Since it's the first time. Then we'll kind rotate. I'll take you tomorrow."

"Whatever," he provided.

"Hey," she said, giving him a firm tap in the knee. "You better be a little cooler about all this."

"It sucks," Ethan provided. "Balls."

"Oh, it sucks balls?" she put back to him, pressing her hand into his forehead until it tilted back and his eyes met hers. "You have a lot of experience in that area to be making that comparison?"

He jerked away. "No!" he spat. "Do you?"

She snorted at him. "Don't talk like that, Ethan," she put flatly without getting into it. "And behave while you're at the hospital. Don't give your dad or the staff attitude."

"Why not?" he said. "They all suck."

"Well, for one do you know what's four blocks from here?"

"Lots of stuff," Ethan said with clearly put on attitude now.

"Lots of stuff," Erin intoned back to him with just as much tone and he rolled his eyes and looked away. "Timeless Collectibles," she pressed. "And I have it on good authority that if you aren't a little brat while you're at the hospital you'll be getting to stop there on the way back here."

Ethan gazed at her – processing that – and then looked away. "That just makes me know that more is going on he's not saying," he said.

Erin looked at him sadly. She wanted to confirm that and deny it all at the same time. To sit with him and try to explain to him. To hug him and reassure him. But that wasn't her place - not right now. She'd get to do that on Wednesday. Though, making him wait until Wednesday to understand what was happening to him seemed unfair in a way. He wasn't a little boy who was completely oblivious. When he was a little boy he wasn't even completely oblivious. Kids know when something is wrong. They aren't stupid. Ethan didn't need to hear the words or diagnosis to know that there was a shift - a label - that had changed his situation. He just hadn't been told what it was yet. Erin wasn't sure having that label would make things any easier for him.

"Or because someone really liked getting to look at those baseball cards with you yesterday," she said instead of addressing everything else.

"No he didn't," Ethan said flatly.

"Your dad isn't quite the unfeeling robot that you want to think of him as, Eth," she said. "Don't be so hard on him. He's your dad and he can be a hard person. I know. He is who he is - and what he is. But he's trying his best. This isn't an easy situation for any of us."

"It's not fair," Ethan muttered.

"No, it's not," Erin agreed. "But your dad is trying really hard to make this as easy and as fair as possible. And that's a pretty hard thing to do. So cut him some slack."

He looked at her a moment – blinking – and then went back to shuffling insistently through his cards.


	56. Cool Kid

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Jay slapped Mouse on the back as he entered the room. "So this guy talking to you?" he asked.

"Nope, mmm, hmmm," Mouse provided.

"Well, are you talking to him?" Jay asked.

Mouse gave him a look. "Uh, no. That's Voight's kid."

"No shit," Jay said and looked at his friend. "And he's twelve and can form sentences. You can speak to him."

Mouse examined him cautiously. He was clearly hesitant at the concept of speaking to the kid. Jay didn't exactly blame him. Mouse was loving having a steady gig. Having structure. Having a job and a purpose and stability. He was still unsure around Voight. But who wasn't? But thing was with Mouse he was so twitchy – and he knew it – he was bound-and-determined to not do anything screw it up. Which was technically a good thing for Jay because if Mouse did screw it up it'd be his ass on the line too. He's the one who'd put the guy up for the position. Still, though, he could acknowledge the kid was in the room.

Jay just patted him more on the shoulder though and gave him a small smile – trying to reassure him that he could calm the hell down. No one was out to get him that day. He didn't need to walk on eggshells just because Ethan was in the room.

"Hey, you bring the thing I texted you about?" Jay asked.

"Ah, yeah, yeah," Mouse said and rolled his chair in a little scurrying movement over to the opposite side of the room – hefting a gym bag out from under the table and holding it at him.

"Thanks," Jay nodded and took it from him, rounding the counter while Mouse watched him suspiciously.

He shot Ethan a grin. "Hey, Kid," he provided.

Ethan gazed at him. So Jay just moved himself and slouched into the chair next to him.

"Erin told me you're stuck down here," he said. "That you're summer ain't really shaping up the way you wanted."

"I guess," Ethan allowed quietly.

Jay just nodded and slouched down more. "Yea," he allowed. "She said you're missing some like field trip with your camp because of a doctor's appointment? Snakes?"

Ethan gave him a little glance. "Reptiles," he said.

"Mmm," Jay allowed. "You know, before I was in this unit, I ended up on this case where we busted this guy who was moving all these exotic animals. He had snakes, turtles, lizards. Crazy stuff. Deadly poisonous stuff. But we ended up having call in all these specialized people to move these things. So, anyway, long story short, I know this guy who has this whole store of all those things. Snakes, lizards, turtles. Has an anaconda. Was telling Erin about it. She says we should totally make the hike one weekend. Check it out."

Ethan gazed at him for a long moment but then just shrugged.

Jay shrugged back. "Yea, OK," he allowed. "You think about it. Let me know."

"Yea, sure," Ethan put flatly.

Jay hit him on the shoulder like something else had just dawned on him. "Oh, hey, did you ever figure out how much money you've got in the vault?"

Ethan shook his head. "No," he allowed. "But dad says I'm getting my bike at auction. Not new."

Jay shrugged. "OK," he said. "But I got something else you might want to front the money for."

He leaned and pulled the gym bag into his lap and unzipped it, holding it open for Ethan to see. Ethan's eyes examined it – getting big.

"Erin said you want a PlayStation but you know …" Jay provided, and shoved his hand into the bag pushing some of the Xbox components around. "It's not being used. Not the latest one but you can still get games for it." He held up a case. "Put some games in there for you. Now this one," he said tapping the Call of Duty case with his knuckle. "Your dad might not like the rating but I think if you can get him to sit down and play with ya, he's going to kick ass at it."

Ethan sat back in his seat and shook his head. "I don't have enough money for it," he said.

Jay shrugged. "I'm giving it to you. Loaning it to you. I'm not using it. Wasn't even over at my place anymore right now."

Ethan let out a slow breath and shook his head again.

"C'mon," Jay tried again. "You're going to be sat-up for part of the summer. At least give you something to do. Use some of those dollars to get a couple new games? Jurassic Park? MLB? I put Madden in there. But you aren't into football, are you?"

Ethan just looked at him a little disappointed. "Dad says no videogames."

Jay leaned a little closer. "See, Erin is going to cover your ass on that. Help you get it set up when he's out. Take the brunt when the hammer comes down. She knows I'm lending it to ya. She's in. She's got you covered."

Ethan let out a little sigh and looked longingly at the bag. "I don't know …" he said.

Jay shrugged and set the bag back on the ground. "Sure, OK," he allowed. "You think about that too. Mouse here has got it if you change your mind."

Ethan gave a little nod. But Jay heard Mouse shift uncomfortable in his chair. Now that he knew why he'd been asked to drag the gaming system in for his old roommate, he was likely shitting himself. Especially since he'd just overheard the plans to go over Voight's head with it. He wouldn't want any part of it. But screw it. Voight would never know. Erin would come up with a thousand different places where the thing had come from. She worked with all guys. She had a cashflow. Getting a fucking dated Xbox wasn't exactly conspiracy worthy. Though, they might be conspiring against Voight's wishes. Or his rules. But he had so many fucking rules as far as Jay could tell. Too many to be worth listening to or following them all.

"Are you Erin's boyfriend?" Ethan asked suddenly, casting him a look.

Mouse's chair really clattered at that and Jay looked while the guy got up and quickly left the room. He snorted his amusement at that and shifted his eyes back to Ethan.

"Why you asking that?" he put to him flatly.

"Because you're being nice to me for no reason," Ethan said.

Jay scoffed. "Or maybe the reason is that I'm a nice guy," he countered.

Ethan examined him for a second. "OK. Well, you bought dinner, and you came over for dinner, and Dad doesn't like you."

Jay made a mock shocked face. "Your dad doesn't like me?" he put back to him in a horrified voice. Ethan just shrugged at him. So Jay just gave him a smile and slouched back into his chair, staring at the wall on the opposite side of the room. "Nah, I'm not Erin's boyfriend," he said.

He censored the interior monologue that went through his head about that. That he really fucking wanted to be her boyfriend. That he wanted to give the relationship a go. To see if they could work it out. Because he thought they might be able to. It felt like there was something there. Something real there. And, he thought it was worth exploring. How often do you really get to explore something like that? How many people does it feel that way with in your lifetime? Likely not fucking many. He hated letting the opportunity slip by because things were "complicated". All relationships were complicated. He could deal with Voight. He dealt with Voight on a daily basis anyways. He could figure out how to deal with him in this new context. It wasn't like he hadn't dealt with live grenades before.

But since Erin wasn't giving him the path of least resistance he'd take this route. The slow trudge. Maybe by the time he got to the other end one of them would be leaving Intelligence and she'd be more open to them making things real. He didn't fucking like living a fantasy. Relationships weren't supposed to be some undercover, confidential thing. You were doing it wrong if they needed to be.

It sort of hoped maybe they were making progress. That she was starting to see it his way. Or at least she was hearing him when he said he cared and that he was there for the right reasons. Give it time. He was willing to give it some. To work at it. But he knew that likely just proved how much he wanted it. And, he wasn't sure how long it made sense to wait. He couldn't brow beat her about it too much right now, though. She had too much on her plate. It'd just make her pull away more. Best bet was to be supportive. Get an ear for her to pull and a shoulder for her to lean on. And, maybe when she saw he could provide those things and that he didn't go running for the hills in the process – that he still liked her, still respected her, still saw her for the whole person she was – she'd come around.

He could hope. That's all he had for now.

"Then how come she's telling you about this stuff," Ethan asked bluntly.

Jay shrugged. "We're partners. And our lives aren't that interesting. Talking about reptiles and Xbox and paintball plans is way more interesting than anything we've got on the go when we're stuck sitting in a car with each other for hours."

Ethan looked at him like he wasn't buying it. Jay didn't blame him. He hadn't given an overly convincing delivery.

But all Ethan eventually said after a long stare was, "I'm probably not going to be allowed to play paintball now either."

Jay gave a little nod. "Yea," he acknowledged. "Well, actually, you know that one of the doctors you saw on the weekend in the emergency room? He was my brother."

Ethan squinted at him as he processed that.

"Anyway," Jay said and looked away from him. "My brother knows a bit about medical stuff. So, if after your appointment stuff this week, if your dad is still feeling nervous about, you know, you going to day camp or on some of those field trips or baseball practice – my brother is going to have a bit of a man-to-man with him about what you can realistically be doing these days."

"Dad won't like that," Ethan said flatly.

Jay let out a quiet laugh at that and allowed a smile to spread across his face. He shrugged. "Ah, well … that's not our problem. Let Will … Dr. Halstead … deal with that."

Ethan say back in his chair for a moment and then looked at him. "So you think I'll be able to play baseball?"

Jay shrugged. "Don't know, but I do know that your summer isn't going to be as boring and ruined as you think," he said. "And, even though your dad and sister are acting like it's some kind of end of days right now – don't pay attention to it. Life goes on and people find a way to live and cope." He sat up a bit in his chair, straining his neck up over the counter. "Ain't that right, Mouse?" he called into the back room.

"I'm not getting involved in any of this," Mouse called back.

Jay smiled and shook his head and looked at the kid again. "Erin and your dad are just worried right now. Give them the week to run around with their heads cut off," Jay said. "They'll get their heads back on straight after Wednesday's thing. You be cool and they'll be cool too."

Jay actually really did think that a big factor in all of this was going to be how Ethan dealt with it. And, Ethan seemed like a pretty cool level-headed kid. So hopefully he could bring that to the adults in the room too.

"I'm not that cool," Ethan said.

Jay scoffed. "Hell, yeah, you are," he said. He was pretty sure he believed that too. "I only hang out with the cool kids."


	57. Different Light

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

 *****AUTHOR'S NOTE: The Olivia Benson depicted in this chapter is representative of the Olivia Benson my stories Hello, Goodbye and Welcome Home. If you haven't read them some of it might not make sense. *****

 *****SPOILER NOTE: If you are following Welcome Home, this chapter may provide some spoilers for the conclusion of that story. If you don't want them — you might not want to read this. And if you haven't read either story and don't want major details spoiled — you almost definitely want to skip this chapter. *****

Olivia glanced up from her phone as she finally saw Hank enter the gastro pub. He was running late. Notably late. She didn't know Hank Voight that well but she definitely got the impression that he wasn't one to be behind schedule.

He'd eventually called her to let her know. The man didn't work in texts – and his phone manner for brief exchange of information left something to be desired. He really could've just said that work had caught up to him and he wasn't able – or didn't want – to come. She probably wouldn't have thought much of it. Or at least she wouldn't have taken it too personally.

And, it would've meant she wouldn't have been spending a "free night" anywhere, anytime in recent memory sitting around in a near empty drinking establishment waiting for him. Though, it'd been so long since she'd had "free time" she wasn't entirely sure what she'd do with herself – not in an unfamiliar city. She didn't play urban tourist very well. She probably would've just wandered until she found a decent meal at some decent restaurant or to go sit at a touristy jazz bar for a drink or two. Though, in reality she knew that her "free night" alone would've more likely been spent in her hotel room, calling to check on her kids and FaceTiming with them for an extended period of time – like it had been way more than 24 hours since she'd kissed them goodbye. Then she'd probably round out her thrilling "alone time" with having an overpriced glass of crappy wine out of the in-room bar and maybe enjoying a long hot bath and some stupid television show that she normally wouldn't watch at home even if she did have the kids in bed and asleep. But still – it might've been a more effective use of her evening than sitting around waiting for Voight.

Though, now that he was there her face softened a bit. Maybe it wasn't the job – or lack of interest in playing nice - that had Hank running late.

Voight was up at the front of the pub getting a boy established at a table near the window. She couldn't pin an exact age on him. Likely anywhere from ten to thirteen. Hard to tell when he had a cap sitting on top of his head. But as he settled at the table and Hank talked at him, the man flicked at the rim and the boy pulled the hat off, giving him a disgruntled look. Olivia squinted a bit as the hat came off and more of his face came into view. He was clearly scarred, though in the dim lighting and the shadowing coming in from the window causing the two of them to be more silhouettes than anything else, she couldn't quite make out the extent of it.

With the boy seemingly settled Hank started to stride across to where she was seated. He gave her an apologetic look but Olivia just shook her head.

"Not a problem," she allowed and gestured at the seat across from her. "I got you a drink but you might want to order another one at this point."

Hank just nodded in acknowledgement and got seated. Apparently he didn't care that the drink was now warm – or he really needed a drink at that point – because he took a long sip out of it.

Olivia's eyes drifted back to the boy. He was now gazing – seemingly shuffling through – something in his hands. It didn't look like a phone but she couldn't make out what it was.

"He's welcome to join us," Olivia provided.

Voight just gave his head a shake. "He's fine," he said flatly. "Babysitting service will be here to grab him soon."

Olivia gave a small snort at that and shifted her eyes to him. It almost felt like she was looking at the Chicago sergeant with new eyes. She hadn't placed a lot of thought into his personal or family life. A lot of times it was just easier not to get involved in that sort of thing – especially when it was just someone you had to work with on very remote occasions. Yet, from what she did know about Voight – the experiences she'd had with him – this humanized him a sort of unexpected way.

"Yours then?" she asked.

Voight curtly nodded and grabbed some of the pretzels out of the bowl at the center of the table, gesturing slightly over his shoulder before putting them in his mouth. "My youngest," he provided flatly.

Olivia gave him a thin smile at that. "How old?"

"Twelve," he said.

She gave a little nod. "How old are the other ones?" she asked.

He raised an eyebrow at her. She knew she was being nosey – and Voight was clearly a private person. She almost expected him not to answer. But she was curious. It was a side of him she hadn't seen before and it'd piqued her interest a bit. He didn't overtly give off the vibe of a family man. Though, she supposed having children didn't entirely make you a family man. Still, she'd seen the way he interacted with his unit. He was protective. She suspected those were the glimpses of the underlying father she'd been allowed to see. Maybe as much as most people outside his inner circle were ever allowed to see.

"Twenty-two and twenty-nine," he provided after a pregnant pause.

"You've got some age gaps on your hands," she offered.

"Mmm," he offered in an almost grunt.

"You'll have to let me know if that makes things easier as they get older," she tried. "I've got some similar ones."

Voight gave a small nod. "You had photos in your office," he allowed, almost dismissively, reaching for some more of the snacks.

Clearly he was hungry. She thought if he wanted to eat, he likely should've suggested meeting at a different spot. Though, she imagined this was pretty much just a courtesy – not a social engagement, especially now that he had his son with him.

"And you don't have any in your office," she put back to him.

He cast her a look at that. "What brings you to Chicago, Sergeant?"

Olivia allowed a small laugh at that. Clearly he wasn't going to talk about his kids anymore. Off-limits. But she understood. She was private about hers too. But she'd also learned to be less private. Letting people in a bit had made things easier for her – and for her boys.

"There's a conference about the rape kit backlog," she put flatly. "NYPD brass decided my time would be best served doing a presentation here considering we've had some cross-jurisdictional cases bite us in the ass lately."

"Mmm," Hank allowed. "You sound thrilled about that."

She raised her eyebrow in acknowledgement but took a drink. "Who doesn't love having to do public speaking at a conference you're then stuck sitting in around … 'networking'?"

He shrugged. "Sure the Ivory Tower thought you didn't have anything better to do with your time."

She smiled. "Nah. Open cases. Court dates coming up. Kids at home. Start of summer vacation. Detective away on holidays when we're already short handed. Not like I needed to be around."

He allowed her a thin smile and took a sip of his own drink.

"I thought with how things were left the last time we saw each other, I should check in," she said.

Voight gave a little nod. "Glad you did."

"How's everyone holding up?" she asked.

He gave a little shrug and made a small sound that clearly indicated there wasn't any way to quite capture it. "Everyone's doing the best they know how," he said.

She gave him a sad smile at that. She supposed though that was about the best that could be hoped for given the circumstances. It was a loss – in an heinous way. There'd be self-blame. Self-doubt. Self-loathing. There'd be a want for revenge. Nightmares. Anger. Sadness. Upset. And everything in between. There wasn't a right or wrong way to deal with it. It was just something that had to be dealt with. And really the only way to do that was the best way anyone knew how.

Olivia had been doing the job long enough that she knew even now she didn't know the best way to deal with any of this. She wasn't sure she ever would. If she ever did figure it out, it might be time to leave the job. She'd probably done it too long if she was able to just deal without the struggle. The struggle was part of paying honor to the victim – especially one you knew.

"How long they have you stuck here?" Voight asked, again clearly trying to shift topics away from something he didn't want to dwell on.

"Conference wraps up around lunch on Thursday," she allowed.

"Well, maybe you'll get to see more of my city on this trip," he said.

"Maybe a little," she agreed. "Pretty much stuck in a windowless hotel conference room for the most of it."

"Mmm," he managed. "You flying back out Thursday afternoon?"

"Nope," she allowed.

"Might be able to give you a shoestring tour then. Or at least get you somewhere better to eat than here."

She gave him a smile but shook her head. "Actually, my oldest is working in the city this summer."

She saw Hank examine her at that. "Hadn't mentioned," he said flatly.

Olivia shrugged. "Last time we saw each other didn't really lend itself to chit-chat."

"Mmm," he allowed. "Or has any other time."

She gave him a thin smile for that.

It was true. Hank Voight was a very different cop than what she was used to dealing with. Some of his tendencies reminded her slightly of her partnership with Elliot Stabler but Voight did take it to another extreme. He wasn't the kind of cop that she thought she'd want in her unit. Yet, at the same time, he was the kind of cop you wanted around. He got the job done. And there was method to his madness. There was a lot of heart behind it. He thought he was doing right in his own way. And, he clearly felt he got results his way. It just likely wouldn't fly in the NYPD. At least not for long. It'd get shutdown. He'd get shutdown. He'd lose his badge.

He wasn't the kind of person she'd generally do chit-chat with. Or at least he wasn't – previously. Spending time with Brian had opened her up to some of the gritty and gotten her off some of the high horse she hadn't even known she'd been riding. It'd been good for her. But it'd also been good for her kids. They needed a little bit of grit. They had a bit of grit to them as it was. They needed to know that was OK. It still made for good men.

She shrugged a little, dismissing the comment and advancing the topic a bit anyway. "So as much as I hate sitting in a conference, it did give me a good excuse to check up on him."

Something that almost resembled a smile tugged ever-so faintly at the sides of his lips. "Yeah, well, if he ever needs something after Mom is gone and not able to stock up the cupboards for him …"

She smiled a little more genuinely at that and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "I'll let him know," Olivia provided. "I appreciate that."

"He liking my city?" Voight asked flatly and took another small handful of the bar mixture on their table. The way he asked, she wasn't sure he was that interested, but she supposed she didn't really care. He'd provided the opportunity to comment.

"He is," she gave him a small smile. "Been here about a month. He loves architecture. So …" she shrugged.

Hank gave a small nod. "Go place to be then."

Olivia allowed a thin smile. "Mmm," she allowed. "Yeah, he seems to be keeping busy. Too 'busy' to spend time with me tonight."

Hank snorted at that. "Keeping out of trouble? What's he doing out here?"

"Ah …," Olivia let out a small laugh and found Voight's eyes. "He is actually helping build a skateboard park. And develop the pilot programming for the park."

She saw the way Voight was looking at her with that. It wasn't judgmental. It was just more a processing of the statement. Olivia was used to that on some level when people asked what her son did or was doing. She usually just stuck to "he's studying architecture". It sounded suitably respectable – professional, hoity-toity. But as Jack worked at his degree, it became more and more apparent that labeling him as an "architecture student" or an "architect" didn't really capture where his interests lay or what he'd likely end up doing when he finally completed his schooling.

"At Grant Park?" she provided, like Voight had any interest in more clarification. "Jack's actually really interested in the repurposing of under-used city spaces and making them multifunctional. So what they're doing there with combining it with programming and art … he was really excited to get the placement."

Voight gave her a thin smile. But Olivia shook her head a little embarrassed. He clearly didn't care. She looked down at her drink.

"Sorry," she acknowledged. "If I'm not at work, dealing with work or talking about work, the kids tend to be my default topic."

He shrugged. "You're proud," he provided flatly.

She brought the drink to her mouth and took a slow sip. "Yeah," she allowed. "Don't we have to be? Some days they're the only thing that gives you some sense that you're doing something right."

"And others, just a reminder of everything you're doing wrong," Voight said and took a sip of his own drink.

She watched him at that comment. She knew there was truth to it. She felt that too. Some times more times than not. But the way he said it seemed like it was those trials of parenthood that were ringing true for him more that day. Her eyes drifted back to the boy sitting at the front of the pub.

"So he going to show you around what he knows of the city?" Hank asked. It was clear that he was trying to move her eyes away from the examination of his son.

She nodded, bringing her eyes back to him but rolled them slightly. "Touring with Jack tends to mean that I get to see every skate park in a 20-mile radius. But hopefully I'll see some of the city along the way."

Hank snorted. "How old?" Hank asked flatly.

"Twenty-one," she said.

"Mmm," he grunted and popped another pretzel in his mouth. "Ones you got on display are younger than that."

She let out a quiet laugh. "Jack's there too. But everyone only notices the cute ones."

Hank allowed almost indiscernible smile. "How old are the cute ones?"

"Six … almost seven," she said. "And twenty-two months."

"Mmm," he said and made a bit more eye contact. Maybe he was seeing her in a bit different light too. "You've got your hands full."

She smiled thinly and shrugged. "Good full," she allowed.

He just nodded. "Got someone to help, I hope."

She allowed him a gentle smile. "I've got help," she provided. "But likely not in quite the way you're suggesting."

He gave her a look. An examination. But provided no comment. He was the kind of man who minded his own business and didn't want to know any business that wasn't pertinent to him in the immediacy. It was an interesting dynamic considering he worked in Intelligence.

"You?" she put back to him instead, gesturing a bit with her chin at his hand. He'd been fiddling at his ring finger – though there was no visible wedding band. She'd noticed him doing it in their other encounters. She suspected he was likely divorced. Most cops were it seemed. Wasn't a good career for if you wanted a typical nuclear family living in holy matrimony. Cops weren't home enough for them to give off the vibe of dedicated matrimony.

He just glanced at his hand with her mention and stilled his movements, settling his hand flatly over top.

"No," he allowed and gazed down at the table for a moment, spreading his fingers. "Lost their mom about five years ago." He paused briefly and then tapped his hand on the table. "Five years next month, actually," he added and then reached and finished his drink. He looked toward the bar and seemed to make eye contact with the bartender, making a silent gesture that clearly indicated he was ready for another.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Olivia said after gathering herself.

She'd been a little surprised by that revelation. Separation. Divorce. Unhappy marriage. Ring removed for other reasons. That would be her expectation. Not the death of his wife. Somehow that added a different dimension to him too. A rather large one.

But her eyes drifted to the front door of the quiet eatery as it pulled open and another woman stepped inside. She immediately when over to the boy that Hank had left sitting in the window. The man glanced over his shoulder at her changed line of sight, made a little sound, and then turned back to her. Within the movements Olivia suddenly realized that the woman was Erin Lindsay.

She let that sit for a moment. It was very possible that Lindsay had just shown up looking for Voight. Or that they were in an establishment that was frequented by cops from his district. But his body language didn't seem to say that. It was clear he'd been expecting her. Waiting for her. He wasn't surprised or annoyed to she her there.

Olivia had more than picked up on the unstated dynamics of the relationship between Voight and Lindsay. She hadn't sought out any kind of explanation for it. She knew that when you were young and on the job, you ended up with rabbis. You needed mentors. And when you were in a realized unit from a young age – you'd gotten your shield maybe a little before your time – you ended up rather attached to your superior officer, whether you liked it or not. It was a bond. One she'd learned well and had her own ups-and-downs and good-and-bad and definitely less than shining moments with. But even in that there'd been enough said that she picked upon it being a bit more than that in these two's cases. Maybe a lot more than that.

"Your babysitting service?" she asked.

Voight just nodded. "Yea," he allowed.

So Olivia returned the nod but her eyes were watching Lindsay and the boy. The boy seemed rather friendly and familiar with her. He'd handed her whatever he'd been fidgeting with in his hands and they seemed to be having quite the discussion about it.

"How's she doing?" Olivia asked giving him a concerned look. She'd seen how hard Lindsay had taken Nadia's death in April. It was already very apparent that she was taking on a lot of blame and tumbling down a bit of a rabbit hole. Olivia could relate. She'd been there. But it was still hard to watch.

Hank shrugged. "She's getting there," he allowed. "Better than she was."

Olivia allowed him a sad smile at that but didn't have the chance to anything more the boy had rather suddenly come over to the table, Lindsay trailing behind him slightly, having gathered the backpack that the kid had left behind.

"Dad, look!" the boy demanded and had leaned into Voight, shoving now what was clearly some sort of collector card at him.

With his arrival Olivia suddenly found her eyes staring at the child more. She'd almost done a bit of a double take at first as it registered what she was seeing but she'd be careful to steady herself and not to make it that obvious. To not stare. But it was hard not to. The boy was missing an ear – puckered flesh protruding at the side of his head in its place. The rest of that side of his face looked as much of a mess. She tried to decide if he'd been in some sort of accident or a fire. It didn't look like burns but if it rooted from an accident, it must've been devastating. One of his eyes also looked slightly lazy, sitting cockeyed in its socket. And the boy was about as smiley as Hank was. A flatness to his tight drawn lips. But beyond a familiar square-ness in the chin and faint freckles sprayed across his cheek bones that was where the similarities to Hank Voight seemed to end in that brief initial inspection of him before she moved her eyes from the examination. As she did, she saw that Hank was already giving her a small look of minor disapproval. But he must be used to people looking. People wondering. Still, she acknowledged it was none of her business. That still didn't mean she was blind, though.

Voight's shifted away from her and glanced at the card the boy was holding, nudging him. "Don't be rude," he said gruffly. For a brief moment, Olivia thought he might be muttering at her but then the boy let out a huff and gave her a look too – a rather unimpressed one.

"Hi," he rushed and then pointed at the card again. "Look!"

Voight glanced at it again and held it back to the boy. "You got a triceratops," he said flatly. He obviously wasn't as excited about this development as the boy appeared to be.

The boy really did snatch the card back from him at that. "It's a torosaurus," he provided in a clearly unimpressed tone.

"Geez, Hank," Lindsay said, arriving at the table and pulling up a seat next to Voight, trapping the boy between them. "Don't you know a toroaurus when you see one?"

Olivia allowed a small, amused snort at that and the young detective gave her a smile.

"Hi, Sergeant," Lindsay greeted. Olivia gave a little nod and Lindsay nudged at the boy. "Eth, did you say 'hi' to Sergeant Benson? She's who your dad and I worked with the couple times we've been in New York."

The boy gave her another glance – without greeting – and cast Lindsay a look. "You never bring me back anything from New York," he stated rather accusingly.

The woman shrugged. "What do you want from the airport gift shop, Ethan?" she put back to him. "We go from the airport to work to the hotel to the airport. It's not a vacation."

The boy gave an exaggeratedly annoyed shrug and looked back to Voight. "I think it's one of the special patch cards," he said, admiring the card in his hand. "And, I got it my first pack!"

"Mmm…" Hank acknowledged at that.

Lindsay leaned around the kid and looked at Voight. "How'd it go?" she asked but Voight just grunted to whatever that was a question about.

"It sucked," Ethan said.

Lindsay made a noise and nudged him again. "Now you can talk about it?"

The kid shrugged again still examining his cards with careful consideration. "Getting these was good," he said. "Dad says I can get one on the way back every day."

Voight shot the kid a look – clearly unimpressed. "Don't remember saying that," he rasped a little forcibly.

The kid just glanced at him, though. "There's only eight in a pack," he said flatly – completely ignoring his dad's previous comment.

"So maybe you should get a pack of Topps on this next 'every day' purchase," Voight provided with a clear edge.

The kid shook his head. "These are pretty cool," he said. "I bet I could get the whole collection quick. There's only hundred-fifty. In the base set. Not the special cards. What's eight times a month?"

Hank just made a more unimpressed sound and tried to nudge the kid out from between the chairs. The kid didn't budge.

"You like dinosaurs, Eth …?" she asked, giving Voight a look searching for what "Eth" might be short for.

"Ethan," he provided.

"Hi Ethan," she corrected. "I'm Olivia."

She knew how she felt about people shortening her kids' names without permission. She cringed when people called her son "Ben" – beyond a select few who got away with it. She'd hate when he decided he wanted to just be "Ben" on his own.

But with the presentation of the boy's name her mind did a little click. Ethan and Erin. Seemed like someone might like names that started with E and ended in N. Or it could be coincidence. She could be reading the entire dynamic incorrectly. But she thought she was a slightly better detective than that.

The boy gave her another glance but just shrugged at her question. It wasn't really one she needed to ask. She assumed he liked dinosaurs and he wasn't just toting the cards around for no reason.

"I've got a little boy who's pretty interested in dinosaurs too," she said, trying to play nice after her stare. "I'll likely have him here later this summer – and I hear the Field Museum is the place to go for dinosaurs. Is that true? Have you been?"

Ethan gave her another glance, examining her a bit longer that time and nodded. Olivia was weighing some of his mannerisms carefully. He seemed a little off. She suspected maybe Asperger's. But she wasn't being judgmental. Her kids were twitchy and shy around new people too – and she was sure a lot of people thought Benji was Asperger's or FASD. Or at the very least ADHD. Ethan just seemed … off. That was the best way to put it. A little young for his age. Though something about those eyes said otherwise.

"Yeah," he agreed. "It's good. Erin's taking me to Dozin' With the Dinos this summer. It sounds dumb but it's not as dumb as it sounds." He cast the female detective a look. "And we have to go EARLY so we can get a spot in the Evolving Planet Hall," he told her sternly and Lindsay visibly rolled her eyes.

"Ethan," Lindsay spat. "I'm not going to this thing hours early. You get fifteen hours up-close and personal with the dinosaurs. That's enough."

"IT'S SO WE CAN SLEEP WITH SUE!" the boy cried out forcibly.

Olivia let out an amused noise at that and cast Voight a look. He just shook his head slightly. Not amused but completely unfazed by it. It was likely a conversation he'd had to partake in numerous times already to the point that he no longer saw any humor in his twelve year old declaring his want to "sleep with Sue" while talking to a Special Victims detective.

"It's what they call the T-Rex," Voight provided flatly.

"Ah …" Olivia allowed and smiled.

"And you'd be better off taking your kids to the Children's Museum," he added flatly. "Navy Pier."

"No," Ethan said shaking his head in adamant disapproval. "Field is way better." He gave his dad another unimpressed look. "And, it's a FOSSIL of a tyrannosaurs rex," he corrected firmly and then shifted his eyes to Olivia. "It is the largest, best, most complete fossil of a T-Rex ever found," he informed her. "Way better than anything New York has," he muttered. "You just have a barosaurus."

Olivia smiled a bit at his apparent knowledge of what 'fossils' were where. She knew what he was referring to but she wasn't sure she could've pulled the name of the dinosaur in the American Museum of Natural History's rotunda off the top of her head no matter how many times or how long she'd been stuck staring at it with her kids. "Well, it might just be a barosaurus but it's still pretty impressive."

Ethan shrugged. "Tyrannosaurus is better."

"Ethan," Hank ordered again. "Don't be rude."

"And, I'm definitely not going to sleep next to something with teeth that big," Lindsay added.

Ethan gave her another unimpressed look. "It's just a fossil," he muttered. "And you gave it to me as a birthday present – so I should get to sleep where I want."

Linday let out a quiet sound of amusement and cast Hank another look. Olivia thought that might be something he might need to work on "sleeping where you want" on your birthday was sure to evolve a bit with age.

"Oh, is that how that works?" Lindsay asked and gave him a small poke. He dodged her a bit avoiding it and handed the card back to his dad again, who set it on the table.

"Can you tell me its stats and how rare the card is?" he asked, Olivia making a small note of his request to be read to. Though, with the way that eye was sitting and the dim light in the bar, it could just be he was having trouble seeing. "Erin doesn't know how to read cards," he added and cast an accusing look to the woman, who again rolled her eyes.

"Ethan, it's a dead lizard, not Ernie Banks," he said with an unimpressed gesture at the card.

"Dad!" Ethan challenged. "They aren't lizards!"

Voight just made an exasperated noise. "Go home," he said firmly.

"Please," Ethan whined slightly.

Hank let out a breath and picked up the card, flipping it over. He looked at it a moment, squinting and then his hand went into this shirt pocket.

"Oh … oh," Lindsay said teasingly. "Here come the grandpa glasses."

If looks could kill. "They're reading glasses," Voight said firmly – in a way that again amused Olivia. "It's dark in here," he added as he looped the frames over his ears and went back to looking at the card. Olivia actually thought he looked a little softer in the glasses. Not quite as gruff or stern as he generally did. It seemed to dull his intensity a bit – again make him more human in a different way.

Lindsay seemed undeterred by the look she'd got though and nudged him a little bit, teasingly adding, "Popa Hank."

He made a grunting noise but kept his eyes set on the card. Something about his reactive-non-reaction was endearing, though, and Olivia smiled a bit more.

"And I left information out of chit-chat?" she said. "Are you a grandpa now, Hank?"

He cast her a small look over the top of his frames and just made another affirmative non-affirmative noise. Olivia snorted a little at that.

Lindsay nudged him in the shoulder with her hand. "He will be," she provided on his behalf. "In a month or so."

Olivia's lips curled a bit more into a smile. "Congratulations, Hank."

He just made a sound of acknowledgement. Lindsay nudged at his shoulder again and then smiled across the table at Olivia.

"He's getting all nervous," she said. "He's got the parents-to-be here for the long weekend."

"Yea," Ethan muttered, "and since Olive's pregnant we FINALLY get air conditioning."

Olivia let out a quiet laugh and looked away to try to hide it – but mostly because she knew this wasn't the side of Hank Voight that he likely wanted her to see.

He cast both Lindsay and Ethan another look. "I don't have time to worry about them when I've got your two pain-in-the-asses monopolizing my waking hours. And disrupting the ones I could be using for sleep."

Lindsay scoffed but Hank just slapped the card back on the table. "It says it's a very rare card."

Ethan picked it up and gazed at it again – completely not reacting to the name-calling. "And I got it in my first pack," he repeated again with some admiration and then shoved the card back toward Hank again. "What's the rest of the back say?"

Voight sighed and looked his son right in the eyes. "I'll read the rest of them to you when I get home," he put sternly. "Which is where you're going. Now."

Ethan flared his nostrils at that but stopped shoving the card in his dad's face and squirmed out from between the squished spot between Hank and the detective. Lindsay cast Hank a look but also rose.

"Nice to see you, Sergeant," she provided.

Olivia gave her a small smile. "You too. Have fun at Dozin' With the Dinos."

Lindsay just rolled her eyes and hoisted the boy's backpack over her shoulder, looking like she was about to leave. "Hey, you're going back to District, right?" she asked.

"Yea," he acknowledged, but he was already rising from his chair too.

"You need to talk to Platt," Lindsay said. "She gave me hard time about getting keys for the night."

Voight gave her an even more unimpressed look than what he'd been giving his son. "Or you go out and get a fucking lease in order," he put to her bluntly. Then he cast Olivia a look. "Excuse me a minute."

She just nodded and Hank started to shuttle Lindsay several steps away closer to the bar. She gave him an annoyed look. "Or how about you give me the keys to the Escalade," she lipped back, crossing her arms as he did try to get her out of earshot.

Ethan glanced at them and didn't budge. He cast her a shy look and then looked back to his little pile of cards.

"So do you have big plans this summer besides sleeping with Sue?" she tried. Saying it would've almost been hard if she wasn't used to posing and answering just as ridiculous questions with her kids.

He gave her a shrug. "I don't know. Not now."

"Not now?" she asked.

He shrugged again. Though there seemed to be something to it. "Dad's taking me to a Cubs game. And we might go camping and fishing maybe."

She gave him a thin smile. "That sounds like fun," she allowed. "You like baseball?"

As she clearly hit on another topic he liked, while he answered, her eyes drifted to where Voight and Lindsay were standing. She watched as he shoved a hand in a bulging pocket of his jeans and then held out two prescription medication bottles.

Lindsay's brow furrowed a bit and she took them, examining the labels carefully on each. She said something that Olivia couldn't quite make out over the baseball commentary she was getting from Ethan. But Hank reached out tapping on the one bottle and giving some sort of instruction, followed by moving his finger to the other one, twisting it in Lindsay's hand and saying something else.

The quiet realization that the big bottles were likely for the boy standing in front of her washed over her. She wasn't quite sure what they could be – or what could be wrong. But she really doubted it was a bout of bronchitis or some strep throat they were discussing.

Olivia moved her eyes back to Ethan and examined him a bit more. He noticed her returned eye contact and seemingly her more intense examination and he twitched a bit, looking downward. She allowed him a small smile.

"You like any of the New York teams?" she asked.

He twitched a bit more but looked back at her. "Well, I'm not really supposed to like them. But the Yankees are the Yankees, you know?"

She smiled a bit at that. "I do know. What about the Mets?"

He shrugged. "Not really. But I just like baseball. We're Cubbies, though. Dad and grandpa and now me."

She smiled some at that. "Well, if you ever get your dad to bring you to New York, Ethan, I think I know someone who can make sure you get to a Mets game while you're in town. Even against the Cubs if you can get your dad to time the trip right."

He looked at her with some interest creasing over his face but said, "Dad doesn't like New York much."

She let out an amused sound. "I've picked up on that," she allowed.

"But you've got some cool things," he said and he started to ramble a bit more. "Like …"

Her eyes went back to the conversation taking place down the bar. She heard Lindsay spit out slightly annoyed, "Exactly how late are you going to be?" Hank had given some sort of response and the body language given back to him indicated that answer hadn't been appreciated. At that point he fished a wallet out of his back pocket and after gazing into it for a moment, he held several folded bills toward Lindsay, clutched between two fingers. She looked even more unimpressed, those arms folding across her again. But something else got said and after some flared nostrils the money got snatched away from him and shoved into her own pocket.

Lindsay stayed leaning against the bar near the front of the pub as Hank walked back over. He put his hand on his babbling son's head and held out a folded twenty dollar bill at him. The boy's eyes lit up at that and he looked up at the man before cautiously taking it.

"You take your sister over to Carmine's," he said, in an almost quiet confirmation of what Olivia had discretely suspected anyways. He likely didn't see the point in masking it at that point when she'd already had the opportunity to observe their interactions there. It wasn't that of a superior and his detective that she was witnessing that evening. "Buy her a plate of bolognese."

Ethan gave a little nod and folded the money as Hank gave him something that resembled a combined awkward half-hug and a pat on the back.

"Go," he ordered more gentle and nudged him toward Lindsay. The boy started to move and he added, "In bed by 9:30."

Ethan gave him a disgruntled look but provided no comment.

"Bye, Ethan," Olivia said as he started to trudge away. "Nice to meet you."

"Yea, bye," he allowed over his shoulder.

Hank watched the kid for a moment, Lindsay giving him a finally little nod before putting a hand on Ethan's shoulder and guiding him back outside. He turned back to her.

"Sorry," he allowed – without sounding apologetic at all but Olivia also didn't think he needed to be providing an apology at all. "Been one of those days."

"Hank, if you've got other places to be," she said, "just say so. I understand."

He gave his head a shake. "Nah, I need a dinner break too. Gives the other animals time to clear out of the bullpen too. Maybe I can actually get something done when I get back."

She gave him a thin smile. "Things get busy before the long weekend?"

He shrugged. "Got a couple things on our radar. Things tend to come in before the big holidays and we see some of the fall-out in the weeks after. Fourth must be a bitch for your unit?"

"Mmm," she allowed and took a sip of her now warm drink. "We actually usually see a bit of a lag in the summer. Heat. Humidity. People getting out of the city."

He allowed a little nod. Olivia meant a little sigh.

"But I meant if you need to be dealing with something on the homefront," she provided.

He eyed her for a moment but shook his head. "Their good," he said.

She allowed him a thin smile. "They seem good," she said. "But looks like you've got your hands full too."

"Mmm," he grunted. He glanced over to the bartender again and gestured and the man finally actually brought them over a rather short menu. "Food here is better than you'd expect," Hank said, gesturing at it.

She gave it a glance. He didn't seem to be looking at it. But he likely frequented the place enough that he knew what he'd be ordering without needing to browse the options.

"So I think that answered my question about if the age gaps get any easier," she said after she'd spotted an edible option on the menu.

He made a sound and rubbed at his face for a moment. The movement actually seemed to wash away some of the usual gruffness there and just show how tired he actually looked right then.

"Bigger the kids, bigger the problems," he said. "And the attitudes."

She let out a small amused sound and shook her head. "Well, slightly different situation, I think, but I suspect my Captain would tell you that eventually the chip on the shoulder about what you know – or think you know – wears down a bit. And we all get our comeuppance."

Hank made a little sound at that and cast her a look. Olivia shook her head and took another slow drink.

"I was likely about her age when I got my shield. And I was a pain in the ass," she said.

He gave her a thin smile. "You? I don't believe that."

She snorted. "He is definitely taking quiet pleasure out of what some of the 'kids' at SVU pull with me now. Karma."

He nodded a bit. "Bites you in the ass," he allowed and finished off his drink. "How long you had the command?"

"About a year and a half," she allowed. "He hit mandatory."

"Mmm," Hank grunted. "Don't look forward to that day."

Olivia shrugged. "Apparently there's life after the NYPD," she said. "Or so I'm told."

"Keeping busy then? Still in touch?"

She gave him a thin smile and a nod. "Not the kind of relationship that just ends," she provided. She looked at the table. "You would've liked him. You would've butt heads with him. But I think you would've had a good understanding."

"Hey, if he got the job done …" Voight allowed and shrugged.

She found his eyes at that and gave him another little nod. "He did," she allowed. "Slightly married to the job. A lot invested there. Everything really." She tapped her glass on the table a bit as the bartender came over with another round for them both and too their orders.

"He lost his wife too," she provided after the man had left. Hank gave he a look that indicated she might be testing the bounds but she also got the sense that with the way he looked and the vibe he was giving that evening, he was looking for something in his own way. "Plane crash, actually. They didn't have any children. So, I guess he ended up adopting some of us. Maybe some of us more than others. But, I think some of us needed a father – or family – than others in the room. Took him about twenty years – but he managed to … find something beyond work. Says it's his 'hail Mary'," Olivia said but gave Voight a small smile. "He's happy, though. Happiest I've seen him in the 18 years I've known him."

"Mmm," Voight allowed.

"And …," Olivia said and pulled her phone out, looking at it for a moment, flipping around until her pulled up a photo on the screen and handed it across to Voight. He glanced at it and gave a small smile. In the picture Cragen was completely passed out on her couch, a storybook hanging loosely in his hands like it was about ready to fall to the floor. Her toddler was in the Captain's lap also napping and Benji was slumped against him – still and sleeping for once. "Now he's a great babysitting service."

Voight made an amused sound and handed the phone back to her. "Looks like they ran him into the ground," he commented.

She admired the photo again on her own for a moment. "Oh, it looks like he did OK at tiring them out too. Very busy day at the splash pad apparently."

"Mmm," he allowed.

Olivia looked up and wagged the phone at him before putting it back in her pocket. "It's a look you'll get to try out again soon."

"Mmm …," he shrugged. "My son and his fiancée actually are based out of state. Won't be seeing my grandson as much as I'd like."

She gave him a sympathetic smile. "Ah … well … you've got another one kicking around here that will give you some more little ones eventually."

"Maybe," he allowed flatly.

Olivia could understand where he was coming from there. Lindsay was clearly the twenty-nine-year-old in the mix and hadn't settled down yet. And she was clearly just as married to the job as Hank was. She likely hadn't put much thought into marriage or kids yet – beyond passingly. And she might've thought she wasn't interested in either. Olivia knew that feeling. It wasn't until she was about thirty-six that she started to think maybe those were things she wanted and it wasn't until she was forty that she realized that she might've put too much into her job at the expense of her life. By the time her forty-second birthday had rolled around and a romance and children hadn't yet developed she'd pretty much heart-brokenly accepted that it wasn't going to happen. But you can't see the future and you never really know how life is going to work out.

"You might be surprised," she allowed. "None of us know where we're going to end up."

Hank allowed her a thin smile for that effort.

Olivia rubbed at her eyebrow with the back of her thumb.

"Look, I won't pretend to know what exactly was going on there …" she said gesturing toward the door that Erin and Ethan had long left through now. "And, I certainly don't have twenty-nine years of parenting experience."

He shrugged. "Don't have quite that much," he allowed and when she met his eyes again, he provided flatly, "You do the job long enough sometimes the job ends up coming home with you."

Olivia let out a little snort at that. "Tell me about it …" she said with a small cocking of her head. "Well, what I do know is that it was well passed my thirtieth birthday that I started hear the things my Captain said to me a bit better."

Hank let out an amused sound.

Olivia nodded acknowledgement. "I've mellowed in my old age," she allowed. He provided another thin smile. "But some of the best advice he gave me was … hmm … about a year before he retired. The adoption on my two older boys hadn't gone through yet. He was trying to get me to move away from fieldwork a bit. Take on more paperwork. Sit behind a desk. I wasn't too sure what I wanted to do. Still working on figuring out how to balance kids and the job –". She let out a small amused sound and looked at him. "I'm actually still trying to figure out that one now. But he told me there's no shame in having to step back. That giving your life to the job only leaves you with so much when it's all said and done. So take the shots at happiness when they come up. To take care of them – you've got to take care of yourself too. And if that means taking a step back – take a step back."

She let out a little sigh and shook her head. "I don't know," she allowed. "I know it helped me being told that. Being given permission. Let me give myself permission. Maybe you need to do that too."

"Mmm," he grunted and gazed into his drink.


	58. Easier

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Hank glanced behind him as he heard Erin coming down the stairs. She did the thing that both her and Justin did – putting their hands on the support wall as they moved onto the main floor. Leaving black grimy handprints there overtime that were near impossible to clean in an effective manner due to their positioning. Hank was pretty much convinced they just did it to annoy the shit out of him at that point. Even though it was partially habit – it was a habit he tried to drill out of the both of them – to no avail. Now it would only be a matter of time until Ethan was tall enough to do it. He already put up his hand to test his reach nearly every time he came down the stairs. Hank had caught him jumping a couple times too – leaping to slap the wall and skip the last few steps. He'd snapped at him. But it seemed to be doing about as much good as fifteen years of barking at Justin and Erin ever did.

Erin looked at him with a touch of apprehension when she saw what he was examining in his front room. But she finished coming down the stairs without a word. So he waved what he was holding at her.

"What's this?" he put to her.

She gave him an annoyed look and stepped by him to slump into the armchair. "You know what it is, Hank," she said flatly.

"And why's it in my house?" he put more firmly.

"You told me to bring my stuff over," Erin said.

He gave a look. "That's what you're going to go with?"

She shrugged at him.

Hank put he controller back on the table. "Disconnect it," he said. "You'll get it out of my house in the morning."

"Hank—" she started.

"Out of my house," he barked a bit more firmly.

"He needs something to do," Erin said.

"If he can't entertain himself, I'll find things for him to do," Hank provided.

Erin snorted and shook her head. "I'm not disconnecting it, Hank."

He glared at her. "I disconnect it and it's going in the trash."

She sighed at him and just sunk lower in the chair. He glared at her.

"He's a kid," she said flatly. "He wants to play videogames."

"He can want to play them all he wants," Hank said. "He's not playing them in my house."

"Mmm," Erin allowed. "And not at the hospital either? You had Mouse delete everything on his phone?"

Hank shrugged at her.

She let out an annoyed breath. "And you what? Want him to sit in the hospital staring at the wall every day for the next month? Let him pick a few games to have on it, Hank."

"He's got his phone back and he's got T.V. time again. He's doing fine."

She snorted. "Yeah, Hank. A phone that's now basically a brick by today's standards and an hour of T.V. time a day when you've got a sick kid at home who can't read and is supposed to be taking it easy makes a whole lot of sense."

"He's still grounded," Hank said flatly.

She glared at him. "I'm pretty sure everything that's going on right now is punishment enough." She sighed and her eyes softened a bit. "We're lucky he got sent home, Hank."

Hank took a deep breath and pointed up the stairs. "How'd he do tonight?"

Erin just shrugged but he could tell from her body language that she was tired. That it'd likely been a long night. "He's still awake. Go ask him."

Hank pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why he's still awake?" he sighed.

He was exhausted too. I hadn't slept since Saturday. Hadn't even had what he considered a full-night's sleep – about four hours – since Friday. He really wanted to catch some shuteye that night. To be fresh for Ethan's appointment in the Trauma Center tomorrow. Both so he heard what was being said in the best state of mind – and so he didn't kill anyone in the process of the discussion.

Erin put her elbow on the armrest and leaned her temple against a clenched fist. "Well, to start it's disgusting up there."

Hank sighed. "Did you get some fans?"

She shrugged. "Yea, but that's only doing so much. Any luck with finding a window unit at this point?"

Hank made another sound. He'd hauled ass into a couple hardware stores with no luck. Called around to a few more. It was officially summer and they were in the middle of a fucking heat wave and the fucking forecasters were making it sound like it was going to a summer from hell in terms of heat and humidity – worse than any in recent memory. Finding an air conditioner at this point was going to be a fool's errand. Maybe online or out in the burbs. But that wasn't going to happen that night. Likely wouldn't happen before Justin and Olive got there either.

"Went and pulled on out of Alvin's garage," he said flatly.

She gaped at him. "Does it work?" she asked exasperatedly.

Hank sighed and looked at the ceiling. Even he'd admit that the house was pretty bad in his tshirt and jeans.

"I'll fuck around with tomorrow night and see if I can get it going," he allowed. "Alvin says it sort of worked when he was sleeping out there."

Erin made another sound and slumped down in the chair more. He actually thought she might be trying to angle herself to have the small breeze from the fan hit her a bit more.

"So you entertained Benson and then you went and say in Al's garage drinking all night and telling him more about what's going on than me?"

He shot her a glare. "No," he said. "I took a dinner break and dealt with a courtesy visit. Then I went and dealt with paperwork I'm behind on because I've been out multiple days dealing with my son's health. Then I went and checked some hardware stores for a fucking A/C. Then I went and talked to Father Caruso to bring him into the loop. Then I got a call back from Alvin – so I went over there and got the fucking piece of junk. Not that I'm accountable to you."

Erin sighed. "What'd Father Caruso say?"

Hank shrugged and trudged over to the couch – sitting at the far end rather than his usual spot to catch some of the fan's rotation too. "That they'll make space for him."

"You told him about …" Erin clearly didn't know what to say or how to characterize it so she just gestured at her head to but then sighed more heavily at that action and dropped her hand away.

"Yea," Hank allowed. "Told him we're working on the medical end of getting him onto an IEP. He's going to work on getting us set up for an assessment from the academic end with their people there."

Erin slumped her head on her fist again. "The kids on IEPs and getting pulled out of the room stick out like sore thumbs there, Hank," she sighed.

He drew a deep breath. "Ethan sticks out like a sore thumb anyways."

"So now he's going to be Pizza Face and the retard?"

He gave her a serious look. "He needs to be in school. Needs to get at least his high school. Going to have better luck getting him the attention and help he needs at St. Ignatius than if I threw him into a public school. And they'll keep me in the fucking loop. Unlike the gong show he was at," he added angrily.

Erin gave him a sad smile. "You tell him about the M.S.?"

Hank shrugged. "Yea," he said. "They've got kids with health problems and physical limitations. They'll work around it. Accommodate him."

"You going to tell me more about the M.S.?" she asked.

"Erin," he said a bit more gruffly. "I don't know what you want me to tell you. What you think I'm leaving out."

She found his eyes and drilled into them. "All you've said is that they're looking at M.S. with optical neurosis."

"Because that's what they're looking at," Hank said with some clear annoyance. "They'll tell us more tomorrow."

"So they haven't told you why they think that? Or what that means?" she pressed back to him.

"They think that because of all his symptoms," Hank rasped harshly back at her. "Because he has fucking lesions in his brain that aren't from his original injury."

Erin just let out a sound and stared at the floor for a while.

"The reading material they gave me is in my desk drawer," he said flatly. "Read it. Or do your internet searching. I'm sure you already have."

Erin shot him a small glare. "Yeah," she allowed, "I have Hank. Because you gave me all of two sentences about something pretty fucking significant."

He just shrugged at her. "Then now you know as much as I do. Maybe more."

"The long term implications of this are pretty scary, Hank," she managed.

"I know," he allowed.

"Did they say what kind of M.S. they think it is?" she asked cautiously.

He gave a small shrug and shifted a little uncomfortable on the couch. "When it's kids he said it usually starts out as relapsing-remitting. So it's sort of episodic. Some of the symptoms will clear up and then … he'll relapse."

"But they're looking at the others?"

"Yeah," he said. "Didn't talk much about them. Guess we'll get the update tomorrow."

Erin let out a slow sigh. "So what's the plan for tomorrow? Are you going to have Ethan in there for the information dump?"

Hank expanded his chest and held it for a moment before letting it out. "Yea, I think that's best. Likely going to have us sitting with a board anyway. Supposed to have a shrink or something in to break it to him."

"He'd do better hearing it from you," Erin said. "You should … tell him … something. He knows more is going on than you're saying."

Hank just shook his head.

"Then I don't think you should have him in for the initial briefing," Erin said. "It's going to be too much information for him to take in."

He looked at her directly. "You want to be in there. I'm not having my son sitting alone in the waiting room wondering why the doctors have us in there so long."

Erin sighed and examined the floor again. Hank knew she wasn't going to argue that point.

She finally shook her head. "You should go up and see him before he falls asleep. I told him to take a shower to cool down before bed. But that plaster thing came off his back where they did the lumbar puncture. He got all freaked out about it."

Hank gave her a confused look. "He's upset a bandaid came off?"

She sighed and found his eyes. "I think he's just generally upset. But he started complaining about it hurting and a headache after," she said. "And, it's a little red."

Hank scrubbed at his face. "OK," he acknowledged.

"And he threw up a couple times tonight," Erin added with pure exhaustion.

Hank let out a slow breath. "Before or after you got the nausea medication into him?"

"Before," she said and gave him a look. "He ate well. Like he was starving. Cleaned his whole plate. Ate the bread. But …" she shrugged. "Didn't keep it down."

Hank let out a slow breath. "You find that drink at the drug store?"

She nodded. "He picked chocolate. But it doesn't look or smell anything like chocolate milk, Hank. He took a sip. Refused to drink it. I couldn't do bad cop tonight. You'll have to figure out how to get him to drink it yourself."

He slumped his own temple onto the hand on the armrest. "OK," he allowed. "It in the fridge?"

"Yeah," she confirmed. "Not sure that it being cold is going to improve them any."

Hank just sighed. And kept his head in his hand.

"They mentioned at the hospital that some of this stuff can be administered by home care," he muttered.

"OK …," Erin allowed. "Does our insurance cover that?"

Hank gave a barely discernible shrug. He didn't know. He hadn't had a chance to dig into that.

"You know if any of the paramedics at Boden's are licensed for that?" he asked flatly, still not even looking at her.

"Yea, Hank, that's something that regularly comes up in conversation," she said with an edge of impatience.

He moved his eyes to narrowly gaze at her over the edge of his hand. "Find out," he ordered evenly.

Erin made a face. "Or maybe you should call some of the home care providers and set something up that way," she put back to him firmly.

Hank gave his head a little shake. "If I can having him walk from district over to Fifty-One, it'd be easier."

Erin sighed. "Hank, you can't have him sitting around district all day. It's unfair for him and it's going to look poorly on you when the wrong person notices."

He leaned back in the couch. "I meant after day camp," he said flatly. "Come to district. Check in. Send him over there. Hopefully most nights one of us will be able to boot it after that and bring him home."

Erin examined him. "You're thinking he's going to be up to camp?"

Hank let out a noise and looked up at the ceiling. "I'm thinking I can't have sitting around here alone all day and that he's going to drive me fucking crazy if he doesn't have something to do."

Erin gave him a thin smile. "I want him to be out of the house too, but I don't know … how well just a city camp with college kids as counsellors are going to be watching him and checking in on him to make sure he's OK."

Hank nodded. "Trying to set something up to basically make Lexi his personal counsellor. Get her a summer gig there. She'll keep an eye on him. Days he's not up to going in – she'll play babysitter here."

Erin snorted at that and looked at him. "Have you talked to Lexi about this?"

"She'll do what her dad tells her," he said flatly and gave her a look. "Some kids actually listen."

"Mmm," Erin allowed. "See, funny, the last time Alvin made me get-together with him and Lexi for some sort of inspirational breakfast, it sounded a lot like she had plans for the summer."

"Alvin likes this plan better," Hank said.

"Oh, I'm sure he does," Erin rolled her eyes.

"You should be grateful he's willing to talk to her about it," Hank said. "It will make things easier on this household too."

Erin just shook her head and went back to gazing at the floor.

Hank sometimes didn't know what she wanted. She wanted plans and solution and action – to be told them. But then didn't like when he came up with the best way to deal with situations. Didn't hear her putting forward another option, though. And, it was usually put up or shut up. So he was just glad she'd decided to keep the rest of her opinions to herself if she didn't have anything constructive to offer to the conversation.

He shifted himself and pushed himself out of the cushions of the couch. Going and giving Erin's shoulder a small squeeze and her hair a gentle tug until she gave him another one of those sad smiles. He could see in her eyes, though, she was thinking and processing. Worrying too much. More than she needed to or should be.

He was worried too. But he could carry the burden of that. She had to take on a different role and different responsibilities.

Besides, things would be clearer tomorrow.

He hoped.

"I'm going to check on him," he allowed.

It felt like all he could do right now was check on him. He hated that feeling. Hopefully soon he'd be doing more than just checking in.


	59. Chronic

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Hank slowed his walk – storming, really – and stopped turning to look at his boy. He looked dazed. A deer in the headlights. He was shuffling almost like a zombie. Taking his time. No big hurry to get out of the hospital. Hank was ready to get out of there as quickly as possible. But not Ethan. It was like his feet had turned to cinder blocks; Erin shuffling slowly next to him, giving him concerned looks that just dripped with pity. He didn't like her giving the pity look. Sympathy – fine. But not pity. Their family didn't do pity. Didn't need it. They weren't going to start now.

He let out a slow breath, watching them a moment and then closing the gap.

"Stop," he said. He meant the pity party but instead Ethan stopped in his tracks – and that served enough of the purpose. He carefully wrapped his arms around his boy. Ethan buried his face against his mid-chest – trying to hide it. Hank let him for a moment – scrubbing at the intersection of his shoulder blades. But the positioning just didn't feel right. He could tell his kid needed to be held more than that in those moments. Needed a firmer connection. More comfort. He stooped slightly and hauled Ethan up to him, holding him tighter. "You're getting too big for this," he muttered at him.

But his boy didn't respond other than hiding his face against his shoulder. And, if anything, it was just another reminder that he was dealing with a kid – not a man. Not even a teenager yet. Just a kid – no matter how hard he'd tried to make him grow up faster – demanded it of him. No matter how hard the world had demanded it of him. Hank still had nearly two feet on his kid. He was just a boy. And right then he needed to be treated like one.

He reached and supported Ethan with this one arm while holding his arm tightly around him with his other. He put a small kiss in the messy crown of his hair and rested his cheek against his head for a moment. Trying to ignore the activity around them and his usual stance on public displays of affection – even if it was his kids. It was a hospital. A fucking Trauma ward. If anywhere warranted a public display of affection – it was there. You weren't in there if you weren't going through utter shit. Being put through the wringer. It didn't matter what stage of the fucking washing cycle you were at. It never felt good being there. It never got easier. Hank could go the rest of his life without ever having to get anywhere near that place again. He'd fucking give up his life if it meant his boy wouldn't have to be in that fucking Center again. But here they were.

He gave Erin a glance. She looked tired and sad. Glassy-eyed. That glass-eye look she did when she refused to cry in front of him – or anyone. But that she was so awful about hiding. Hank held out his arm that wasn't supporting his son and gestured at her.

"C'mon," he provided – near ordered.

She made a little sound but took the invitation and stepped into him, wrapping her arms around him and Ethan in a joined hug in the midst of the hallway. Letting anyone going by think what they wanted. Letting them step around them.

"All of us have dealt with worse than this," he told them both while still holding them. "We'll get through this."

Ethan let out a long sigh that sounded more like a whimper against him. A clear disagreement. And the way that Erin had allowed the hug to carry on confirmed that she wasn't entirely buying into that mantra either. So he let the hug continue for a moment longer. But then let his arm drop from around Erin. He gave her a look as he pulled away and gestured with his chin for her to follow – as he carried his son down to the waiting area.

He sat in the chair, settling Ethan on his feet in front of him. His son wasn't ready to let go yet but reluctantly did and stood gazing at the ground like he was ready to be reprimanded. He wasn't going to be reprimanded, though. Hank had sat to give Ethan the height. To get down more to his son's height rather than looking down at him. Let Ethan look down a little bit. Give him a position of power. He reached and tugged on Erin's wrist, guiding her to sit in the hard seat next to him rather than sanding in that restless sulk next to his son. She did but seemed just as interested in examining the hospital floor as Ethan did.

Hank slumped forward a bit and put his hands on his son's biceps. "Magoo, it's going to be alright," Hank told him firmly. Ethan's shoulder's just slumped in vague disagreement. "Ethan," he provided more firmly, "this isn't going to be that different than if it'd just been us having to follow up on your head injury."

"Yes, it is," he said weakly and cast him a look. "I have to get needles."

Hank let out a little sigh and then shrugged at him. "Big deal," he said. "We'll learn how to do it. You'll learn how to do it yourself."

"I don't like needles," he said.

"But you can handle needles," Hank said firmly.

"Every day?" Ethan said tearily.

Hank reached up and touched his son's cheek at that, swiping away the lone tear that barely slipped out of the corner of his eye. "It might not be every day," he said. "We're going to get into an M.S. doctor that's a real expert. Maybe we'll get you on one of the weekly drugs. We don't know yet."

Ethan sniffed a bit and looked down again. "I won't be able to play baseball," he lamented.

Erin shook her head and sat forward a bit in her chair, grabbing and taking her brother's hand. "I've been reading a bit about M.S., Eth," she said gently. "There's basketball players and BMX bikers and swimmers who have it. You can still be athletic."

"Not professionally," Ethan said.

"OK," Hank said and pulled his son a bit closer and moved his eyes until he was in his son's line of sight. "Ethan, let's be real here. You're good at baseball. But the chances of playing professional – ever – slim to none."

"I won't be able to be a cop or join the army," he said quietly.

Erin tugged on his hand. "Hon, you don't want to be a cop or join the army," she frowned at him.

"But that's what you and dad do and grandpa. And great-grandpa. And now Justin's in the arm," he near moaned.

Hank steadied him again. "Magoo, the future's got bigger things for you than ending up in the CPD or the military. OK?" He scrubbed at his hair. "You're your mom's son. Universe – those brains – the universe has big plans for you."

"I don't have any brains," Ethan said.

Hank took his son's head and tilted it toward him firmly. "Ethan, you've got lots of brains. You've got lots in that head of yours. We're just going to need to work with the doctors to help you train your brain how to organize things again. OK? Your brain is growing up and it's dealing with health changes right now and it just needs some help. So we're going to learn how to help to remember things and organize information in your head again. And, it's going to be fine."

"I can't read," he whimpered.

Hank shook his head. "No, son," he said. "Your head is just confused about what it's seeing and your eyes are confused about how to move to help you take in words right now. So we're going to see some people and help you learn how to do that too."

Ethan shook his head. "No," he whimpered. "I just wanna play baseball."

"OK," Hank nodded and thought about it for a moment. "OK. You remember meeting Sergeant Benson last night? She was telling me that her boy – he wanted to be a skateboarder. But he realized when he got older that it's pretty hard to get paid to be a skateboarder. So you know what he's doing now?"

Ethan just looked at him. "You don't like skateboarder. You say they're bums and delinquents."

Erin gave Hank a look and a small smile at Ethan's comment. But Hank just shook his head.

"OK. That's besides the point," he said. "The point is that he's learning to be an architect so he can build skateboarding parks."

"So the delinquents have a place to be," Ethan said flatly.

Erin let out a quiet laugh and shifted her eyes to Ethan, reaching and giving his hand another small squeeze.

"So he's found another way to do something he likes. To have a real job and make real money doing something he likes," Hank said. "And, you can do the same with baseball, Ethan. You can be a sports reporter or an announcer or work in the offices of a team or even being a sports doctor or therapist and help the players or coach. There's lots of ways baseball can still be a part of your life."

"But I can't play," Ethan said, completely ignoring the point Hank had been trying to make.

He let out a slow sigh. "This exact instant – no, Magoo, you can't play. But when you're done your steroid treatment and you're feeling a bit better—"

"They aren't going to let me play if I'm on steroids," Ethan whined.

Hank made a sound in his throat and slumped back in his chair a bit looking at his son. "We are going to find a way to make sure you can play baseball when you're well enough, Ethan," he said. "But steroids are going to be a part of this. When you have a flare up of symptoms—"

"I don't want to be on steroids!" Ethan barked. But it was more of a whine and tears came out again.

Erin gripped at his hand more and pulled him to her, wrapping her arms around him as he cried. "Eth, the steroids are going to help when you're having a relapse," she said. "It's not going to be always."

"I want it to be never!" he cried.

"Ethan," Hank said, putting his hand onto the back that Erin was rubbing. "Steroids are going to be an occasional fact of your life now. It's just the way it is. It's going to get you through this episode that you're going through and then the doctors are going to work on making sure the disease doesn't progress and that we manage the symptoms. Just like we have with your head injury."

"You mean until it kills me," he muttered against Erin.

Erin cast Hank a horrified look and gripped her brother tighter but Hank yanked him away from her and pulled him close until he was looking in his eyes.

"No one said anything about this killing you," he said sternly. "This is not a fatal illness, Ethan. Lots of people have M.S. They live long lives."

"As retarded cripples," he sputtered, wiping at his face and the tears that were now springing more readily from his eyes.

Hank helped him wipe at them. "Ethan, no," he said firmly. "The cognitive issues aren't going to be that different from things we've already been dealing with with you. They're things we would be dealing with now anyway. It's part of having a brain injury. Now we're going to get some extra help. That's all."

"They're cripples!" he cried – not hearing a word of that either.

Hank pulled his son to him, holding him tight. "Ethan, you know, what?" he asked quietly. "They told me all kinds of things when you were hurt before. They tell you the worst but it doesn't mean you're going to be dealing with the worst."

The reality was that it had been mentioned that with childhood diagnosis of M.S. there was about a good chance that about twenty-five years down the road his symptoms might have progressed to the point that he was experiencing crippling effects. But twenty-five years was a long time. That was what Hank was telling himself. His boy would be pushing forty. He'd be married and have a son or daughter – or two or three – of his own. He'd be established and have a career and a good life. And medicine and science and research would have advanced enough that his son wouldn't ever experience any of the crippling affects of M.S. He'd have a nice life. Medicine and science and research would advance enough that his cognitive impairments from this and from his fucking brain injury would become secondary too. They'd piece together a whole life for his kid again.

And, until they did, Hank just had to give him a full life.

"We're going to get you into the physical therapist," he said. "They'll help us figure out exercises and sports that are best for you. We'll keep you busy."

"Stupid things," Ethan cried. "Swimming and yoga."

Erin gripped at his shoulder. "There will be other things too, Eth. And you'll get to do the stuff you like too – as long as it's not tiring you out or hurting."

"I don't understand," Ethan cried against his dad. "Why do I have it? I didn't get hit so hard! It was just a black eye!"

Hank drew him away from him again and looked him in the eyes. "Magoo, I told you," he said firmly. "That fight has nothing to do with this. Your brain injury – when you were a little boy – sometimes people who's head gets hit that hard they develop M.S. It's just the way it is."

"Why?" Ethan whimpered.

"Because," Hank put to him.

"Why?" Ethan said and the tears started to flow harder.

"Eth, it's just one of these diseases that they're still learning about," Erin provided. "They don't really know."

"So maybe they don't even really know I have it," Ethan cried.

Hank pulled him back to him. "You've got it, Ethan," he said gently.

All the imaging. All the testing. The doctors had had it on screens. Files. The Trauma Center doctors. The therapists. The ophthalmologist. The neurologist. It was a whole mish-mash of specialists sitting in front of them explaining what they were looking at. Explaining what they were going to do.

He had to do a few more tests. Some cognitive and behavioral testing. Some sort of neuropsychological testing to watch how his body physical processed thoughts and stimuli and also how Ethan did mentally too. But other than that it was waiting for appointments. To see cognitive and behavioral therapists. People to teach him how to think and how to move his eyes and how to cope. More shrink appointments to deal with mood changes and a great disposition for depression when his son already suffered from anxiety. Physical therapy to help him with his movements and to teach him how to manage his pain and fatigue that Ethan didn't seem to be experiencing just yet but almost undoubtedly would. The Trauma Center wanting to follow up. An M.S. doctor specializing in pediatrics being located.

It'd bee overwhelming for Hank to sit through. He knew that there was no what his son was processing all the information. It was a lot for the kid even when they slowed it down and had the social worker regurgitating it on supposedly child-friendly terms. It wasn't a child-friendly appointment. It was a life changing appointment for anyone.

Hank felt like he was sitting through those early appointments with the doctors again. Them asking him all these questions about what he wanted to do if his son turned out to be a vegetable. Them trying to get him to prepare to access all these service to give his pending piece of produce the "best possible life". He hadn't needed a lot of those services. There'd still been the torture of all the hospital appointments and specialists and physical therapy. But it all seemed like it was time-appointed then. It was something they had to get through and then his son would be home. His son would be a little different. He'd have his challenges. He wasn't the same kid as had been strapped in the car that night. But it was still his son.

This didn't feel that way as much. This felt more like a sentence. This was undeniably for life. He'd known Ethan's brain damage was for life. But this just added insult to the injury. Just after they'd been starting to move into the realm of their family working within what they'd gone through. Moving on in some way. This was some new punishment. Some way for the world to strike back at him. To make things harder rather than easier.

How do you explain disability, chronic illness, disease to a boy? How do you tell him that this isn't something that can be fixed when you've already told him that about so much?

"Ethan," Hank put flatly again. "You've been through worse. I have. Your sister has. Your brother has. This is something we can do. We can manage."

"I don't want to," Ethan whimpered against him.

"But you're going to," Hank said firmly and cast Erin a look. Her eyes were brimming too. "We're going to."


	60. Cute

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Erin glanced over her shoulder as the doorbell rang. She gave Hank a funny look. It wasn't often he got visitors. Or ever. In some ways it wasn't surprising his first instinct whenever there was a ring at the door – or a knock – was to pull a gun. But he just made a dismissive gesture.

"If it's that Janowski kid again, tell him the last fucking chocolate almonds he sold me was a fucking clump of melted shit. He going to be out doing fucking fundraising in this heat – get a fucking cooler," he said.

She gave him a worse look. "Maybe if that's the message you want to convey, you should be the one answering the door," she said.

He gave her a sterner look. "I'm tenderizing," he said.

"The pig is already dead, Hank," she said. "You don't need to keep beating it with your spiky mallet."

"Your smart mouth want to be in charge of dinner or answering the door?" he put to her.

She rolled her eyes at him but started to move through the front room.

She'd known that Hank was shaken up from the morning. Sure sign – he was home before she even got Ethan home from his afternoon IV treatment. So he hadn't put in extra time at work at all despite missing the morning. Not only that – he'd likely left early because he had groceries and was started in on doing his sophisticated dinner prep by the time they'd got in the door too.

Not that Ethan had been thrilled to see his dad home early. It meant that he didn't get to try to sneak in some videogames with her OK. And, he didn't much want to talk about everything that already had been talked about. He was still sulking. So it was actually likely almost best that he'd gone right up to his room. If he'd stuck around on the main floor Hank likely would've just been telling him to quit sulking around. Tell him it wasn't the end of the world. That he wasn't so hard done by. That he'd be fine. To cheer up. To be realistic. To do some fucking reality checks.

Fine. She got where he was coming from. It wasn't the end of the world. But this wasn't exactly the sort of news that anyone wanted to hear – particularly a twelve year old. And, a twelve year old who's world was already being screwed around. A kid who's world had already been turned upside-down more than once before. You could only shake things up for a kid so many times before they just kind of got lost in it.

But she supposed at least his absence had given her a bit more of a chance to talk to Hank. Not that there was a lot to talk about at the moment. She'd heard what the doctors said. Now it was going to be a waiting game as he got in to the various specialists. Finished up the testing. Go into various programs and therapy. Finished off his IV treatment and started in on this new fucking daily treatment for the M.S. and whatever other combination of medication he ended up on to deal with some of his other symptoms. At least Ethan was used to taking meds. Not that he liked it.

The main topic had been what he was going to tell Justin and when. Erin felt Hank should've already told Justin what was coming down – but he hadn't. He never did. It was like he thought anything would just unfurl Justin. That he couldn't handle it. No wonder he got so enraged at his dad sometimes. Hank treated him like an incapable wimp sometimes. She knew it was his way of protecting him but it came off as something else. She hated when Hank didn't tell her things – and she was around to at least sort of have a sense what was going on. Justin likely felt blindsided more often than not by Hank. That wasn't a good feeling. It didn't do anything for their relationship.

She'd been trying to urge him to call Justin and give him a heads up before he rolled in tomorrow night. That Justin was going to figure out something was up nearly as soon as he got there. And even if he was oblivious – Ethan had a way of spilling the beans. And this was going to be something that Ethan would spill the beans on pretty quick. He'd tell his big brother. He'd be upset and he'd want Justin to try to fix it for him. Or assign him to trying to manipulate Hank into some sort of impossible task of handling this.

But Hank was insisting he wanted to talk to Justin face-to-face, man-to-man about this. Erin got that was the way Hank liked to talk. How he liked to keep things. His ideal method of communication. He didn't like doing things – even over the telephone. That, really, this was something that deserved to be told to Justin to his face. But there were going to be lots of things over the next three or four – or more years, considering Justin was now talking about doing college on the army's dime to get a job in signal corps, to support his new family – that Hank wasn't going to get to say to Justin's face. And, that didn't mean that Justin should be kept in the dark about family matters.

Waiting to tell Justin until he showed up was just going to make things worse. It was supposed to be a nice weekend. Likely the last time they'd get to see Justin and Olive before Little Henry arrived. Olive's first time officially meeting Ethan, though, they'd likely met back when he was a little kid. When Camille was still around. They were supposed to have their barbecue and take Ethan down to the fireworks. Maybe manage to pretend to be a normal family and go out to the park or beach one day too. They were supposed to spend some time together as a family – and not kill each other, which was going to be a big enough feat without Hank dropping this news on Justin. Them getting through any interaction without there being a fight or argument or at the very least raised voices was hard enough. This wasn't going to make achieving that very easy.

Instead Hank was trying to treat this all like it was somehow none of Justin's concern anyways. That he didn't have to be doing anything for it – so he didn't need to be worrying about it. That he had Olive and the baby to worry about. Erin knew that wasn't quite the way Justin was going to look at it. Justin was going to be furious that this had been kept from him this long. That he hadn't been called on Sunday after Ethan was in the hospital. That he hadn't been told they were looking at M.S. That he can't be updated immediately when they were given the diagnosis that day. That he hadn't been explained to what that meant.

Erin understood how he felt. She might've been there for part of the ride but up until that morning she'd felt pretty in the dark too. Now she just felt completely in a different kind of dark. She needed to sit down and research and try to understand this more. Not just M.S. but M.S. in kids and M.S. in patients with pre-existing brain injury. She needed to get a better idea of what the hell this was going to mean for getting Ethan through school and giving him a normal adolescence and readying him for entering the workforce. What his life could look like in a best-case scenario and what they might be looking at in a worst-case. She needed some facts and figures. Some real solid information. Some intelligence on this. Because right now even after all the information they'd got from the doctors that morning she pretty much felt like they'd just propelled them into a waiting game. More doctors. More tests. More therapy.

She didn't know how they were going to pay for any of this. The benefits Hank got through CPD were pretty good. It covered a lot. More than a lot. But there'd definitely been things it hadn't covered before and in the bit of research she'd done on M.S. she was seeing lots of people writing on boards about how their insurance was screwing them over. The treatments and therapies weren't cheap. If you did anything extra – needed anything extra – someone was likely going to scoff and not give you the money upfront. And, she knew that Hank would grasp at any straw handed to him for Ethan and wouldn't scrimp on getting him all the alternative options and extras and care he needed. She just really didn't want to think about where that money would be coming from. Or just how long it would be before someone noticed that the family's medical bills were starting to mount up to be a whole lot more than Hank's salary –and start asking some questions. I.A. hadn't stopped keeping an eye on him. This could turn into another clusterfuck if he wasn't smart about how he leveraged what insurance did cover and what else he pursued for Ethan and how it financed it.

It was really all starting to feel like back when Ethan had just been released from the hospital. It was a joke when he'd just been released. They were still at the hospital more than they weren't. He just got to sleep at home. Not that her or Hank or Justin were able to sleep when they first got him home. He needed so much help and was so scared and confused. Fuck, they were so scared too. They all thought they were going to do something that would break him and have him hospitalized again.

In and out they'd go to various appointments and physical therapy. She knew Hank was quietly shitting himself about all this mention of physical therapy. That that was going to be a big part for Ethan. Hank had lost his shit on so many doctors in the hospital while they pushed his son to find his legs. To be able to use his hands. But Hank had pushed and pushed and pushed Ethan too. He didn't want to have a child that was a cripple. And now he still might.

Erin was more scared about all this cognitive therapy they were talking about. Teaching him to make his brain think in a different way about all these things. That sounded like a monumental task. At least she knew it was possible. She'd watched Ethan learn to talk and learn to speak and learn to walk again. His brain relearning all these things that had been scrambled up. But this seemed different. A new challenge.

She was worried she wouldn't be able to help him. She was never overly academic. Finishing high school had been a struggle. Helping him with homework would be challenging for her. Some of it she legitimately wouldn't know how to do herself – let alone try to explain to a kid with brain damage that was now compounded by comprehension and cognitive function issues brought on by how the M.S. was impacting the way messages were sent through his memory and nervous system.

Hank would likely be better at it than her. He wasn't exactly academic. But he was well read and ridiculously smart in his own way. Now that he let those flags fly to the general public. But he'd be the one best to help Ethan with anything to do with reading comprehension or English or even some of the social study stuff. If Hank would actually be available to do that? That remained to be seen.

Hank could be the most patient and giving person in the universe when he wanted to be. But he could just as often be as impatient and closed off person you'd ever met. To the point he was scary to those who didn't get to see the other sides of him. She trusted that Hank would deal with this with patience but a really firm hand. How would Ethan respond to that? Well … Ethan usually shut down when it came to Hank's firm hand. He was still scared of Hank. It was this odd push-and-pull. Ethan idolized his dad and wanted his love so much. But he knew his dad was a man's man – that he raised men, that he wanted his sons to be men. Ethan was still a kid and hadn't figured out entirely how to be that – or do it. Especially right now when he was scared. When he was still feeling displaced. He likely didn't entirely trust that he wasn't going to be sent away again.

His family had failed him in the past. They kind of needed to prove to him that they wouldn't this time. It was going to take some work on their part.

Erin's face changed as she pulled open the door, ready to scare away some poor kid that was likely just trying to raise a few bucks for his Little League or soccer team. Finance some tournament or new uniforms or new equipment or team party. But it wasn't the chubby Janowski kid from around the corner that greeted her. It was Holly, standing there rather shyly – shifting from one foot to the other.

"Hi …" the little girl put on cautiously, glancing in behind Erin. Likely trying to spot Ethan or make sure she'd really lucked out and avoided Hank. "Is Ethan home?"

Erin gave her a small smile. "Sure," she allowed and turned, leaning her arm on the banister and calling up the stairs: "Ethan! You've got someone at the door."

There was a definite lack of movement for moment. The concept of having company likely seemed pretty foreign for him. Or maybe he'd died from heat stroke up there. Erin understood that he hadn't wanted to talk to either of them – or about anything – so he'd selected barricading himself in his bedroom. But it was still a sauna up there. It didn't look good that Hank was going to get the A/C unit in that night either. Maybe he'd get it looked at and possibly running. But actually in the window and on long enough to cool the place down before they hit the sack? Not likely. It was enough to make her head back to her place. The smart thing to do would likely be to pack up Ethan and take him over there so he could get a decent night's sleep too. But Hank wouldn't likely allow that. He'd want to keep his own on him and three was a little more than company in her place. It'd be a crowd. Hank in her apartment was always a crowd. His indiscreetly discreet way of being nosey drove her insane.

Ethan finally moved and peeked down from the top of the steps. Erin gave him a disapproving look for the way he was lurking there and not coming down. She pointed at the little girl waiting at the door.

"Holly's here to see you," she provided.

"Hi," Ethan allowed from the top of the stairs. Erin gave him another glare and gestured with her head for him to come down but he didn't budge.

Holly adjusted herself, shuffling to the side of the frame so she could crane her neck and see him better. "Some of us are going to go play some stickball in the lot at the park," the girl muttered. "My mom said we should invite you. Wanna come?"

"I'm not really allowed to play right now," Ethan said – still standing at the top of the stairs.

"Oh …" Holly said with some obvious disappointment. "You grounded or something?"

Ethan just shrugged and Erin cast him a firmer glare but he just shrugged at her too. She let out an exasperated sigh and looked at Holly instead.

"Ethan's doctor just told him he's not allowed to play for a few days," she provided on his behalf.

"Oh …" Holly said and gazed up at Ethan again. "Well, we could go to Georgie's and get a Freezie or something. People hang out there too."

"Dad doesn't like me eating before dinner," Ethan said.

Erin made an even more annoyed sound and looked up at him. He was being stupid. Here was a kid actually trying to be friends with him – not just a kid. A girl. And a girl that Ethan had seemed like he had a slight crush on the other day. Yet, there he was – standing at the top of the stairs like a fucking dodo.

The floor creaked behind her and she glanced to see Hank having approached. Holly's eyes shifted reluctantly to him too.

"Hi, Mr. Voight," she said quietly.

Hank just nodded and then nudged Erin out of the way to look up the stairs. "Get down here," he said more firmly than anything she could've managed.

Ethan made any annoyed noise and clomped down the stairs with his arms crossed and glared at his dad. Hank just ignored it.

"You got change from last night?" he asked.

Ethan shrugged at him.

"Go get it," Hank said. "Get out of the house for a while."

Ethan eyed him but then turned and clomped back up the stairs. Holly shifted nervously in the door as Ethan was good. Hank just looked at her.

"How are your parents?" he asked flatly.

"Good, I guess," she whispered.

He nodded. "Good," he allowed.

She examined her feet.

"What you get up to in Georgie's lot?" Hank asked bluntly.

She cast her eyes upward and shrugged. "I don't know. Talk, I guess."

"Mmm …" Hank allowed.

"Sometimes we trade Yu-Gi-Oh."

Hank gave her a look. "You-Gee-Oh?"

"It's a game," Holly said timidly. "Cards."

"Mmm …" Hank grunted.

"It's like Pokemon," she said. "But the boys like it better." She paused. "There's lots of boys here."

"Mmm…" Hank allowed. "And your clique plays stickball Wednesday nights?"

She gave a shy nod.

"Which kids get Georgie's Wednesday nights?"

She shrugged. "Usually the kids on Drexel."

"Mmm…" Hank provided.

Ethan reappeared and came down the stairs. Hank examined him for a moment but then gestured at the door and the girl.

"Dinner's at sixty-thirty. Don't be late."

Ethan nodded and followed Holly onto the porch. Erin heard her ask Ethan if he had a bike and him give a negative for her to half-heartedly mumble about them walking instead. Maybe she wasn't that excited about this forced playdate her mother had tasked her with. Still, she gave Hank a thin smile as the door got closed.

"They're cute," she said.

He just grunted in recognition that she'd spoken. Typical Hank. He headed back toward the kitchen to continue pounding and chopping his frustrations and anger out on their dinner. Better their dinner than them, though.

And, better Ethan be out talking to other kids and being a normal kid than holed up in his room. That was a positive step forward in ensuring some sort of normalcy in all of this. Even if he'd looked just as thrilled about being sent on a playdate as Holly had. Maybe they could learnt o like each other.

Eventually.


	61. A Name

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Erin walked up to the bar and sat just down from where Gabby was drawing a drink for a costumer. After she handed it over, she came over and gave her a small smile.

"What's on the menu tonight?" Gabby asked.

"The hard stuff and the good stuff," Erin said and tapped on the bar with her index finger. "Show me what you got."

Gabby let out a snort of amusement and turned to grab a bottle. "Humpday?" she asked.

"Mmm," Erin allowed as she threw back the first shot of bourbon and pushed the shooter back to her. "More like that kind of a week." She thought about it for a moment. "Weeks."

"Ah …" Gabby said and gave a little nod, letting the shot fill again.

Erin twisted it in her fingers a bit more slowly that time before downing it. "Hey …" she said after a long pause where she tried to organize her thoughts to figure out the best way to do this discretely and diplomatically. She'd been trying to give it out since the other night. She didn't think there was an answer. It was going to be transparent no matter how she asked. So instead she just found Gabby's eyes. "I've been meaning to ask if any of the paramedics you've got at 51 are licensed to do home care these days?"

Gabby put the bottle onto the bar slowly and gave her a more scrutinizing look. "Weird question," she allowed flatly.

Erin let out a little sigh and downed the next shot. Feeling the burn before slowly putting the glass back on the bar. She shook her head as Gabby raised her eyebrow at the empty glass, questioning if she was going to do another on a work night. Truth be told – Erin would like to. She really, really would like to. Drowning herself in a bottle seemed like as good of plan as any these days. But it wouldn't go over. Not when she had to go and sleep in "dad's" house after this. Not when she had to get up early in the morning. Not when Ethan needed her to keep it together – just as much, if not more than Hank. And, not when Justin and Olive would be arriving the next night. She didn't need to be nursing a hangover. There'd be enough yelling and headache inducing antics over the course of the visit combined with the Fourth without working her way through a bottle of bourbon that night. Gabby would likely cut her off pretty quick anyway. Or someone would come in and she'd stop before they saw her tying one on.

"I heard that … Brett? … might be?" Erin put out there rather than answer the question.

Gabby just shrugged. "Sylvie. Maybe."

"C'mon, Gabby," Erin said. "You know what everyone there is qualified to do and not do. It was your bus for a while."

Gabby gave her a sterner look, spreading her hands on the counter between them a bit, leaning forward. "You know I don't need to be in Intelligence to figure out what this is about."

Erin made an amused sound. "Well, it's not exactly a covert operation," she said. "It's just a question."

"Everyone knows that Voight's kid is around right now and that something is up with him," Gabby said flatly.

Erin shrugged. "You hear that from Antonio?"

Gabby let out a snort and looked away before turning he face her. "Hermann," she put back to her.

"Mmm …" Erin allowed. Maybe she did need another drink.

"And I'm sorry that … whatever is going on with him—"

"He has M.S.," Erin interrupted, finding her eyes with a vengeance but a softness that she hoped the other woman would get. This was Antonio's sister. A woman who worked in a high stakes job too. She got how the job gave you family. That you needed to look out for your own. That you had to. "He's twelve. His name is Ethan. He just got diagnosis today. Relapsing-remitting with optical neurosis. And he's doing the steroid IV pulse this month. Hank is looking for a way to keep from having to take his kid into the hospital every day. And just some help while we get use to having to give him these injections he's going to need after the pulse is done."

Gabby let out a slow sigh and examined the bar. "Erin, I really don't want to get in the middle of this," she said.

"I'm not asking you to do it," Erin pressed. "I'm just asking for a name. If there's anyone at 51. Or one of the other bordering houses. It'd make life so much easier – Ethan would deal with this so much better – if he could just … not be in there in that chair every day."

She could hear the begging in her own voice. But she hoped that maybe hearing the desperation would bend her. She worked in the medical field. Hell, the way Dawson told it, his kid sister had even been looking at medical school at one point. This would mean something to her.

Gabby's head hung. "You know how Matt feels about Voight," she said quietly.

"Voight got him out of that situation at the strip club," Erin provided.

Gabby gave her an unimpressed look. "You mean the one he got him in by sending a firefighter with no Intelligence experience undercover and then shockingly he got made?"

Erin gave her had a shake. "That's not how it went down. He got himself into that all on his own. Picked up the contract. Got involved with that woman."

"Whatever," Gabby muttered and just looked away. "And it's not about that anyway. He terrorized Matt. Hallie."

Erin let out a long sigh. "And he's tried to make it up to him since then. To all of Fifty-One. He's played nice." Gabby just have her an unbelieving look. "Gabby, c'mon, you know he's not a monster. He was in self-preservation mode. He gets like that with family. All his family. Our unit. Antonio will tell you. He's put himself out there for him too. For his family."

Gabby shook her head. "Look …" she allowed. "I feel for him. Or at least for his kid. But, I really don't want to get involved—"

"It's a name," Erin pressed even harder. "I'm not asking you to put the line in yourself. Just give me a name."

Gabby slapped her phone onto the bar. "We've got wireless. Look up a home care service," she said. "There's lots in the city."

"Because that's going to help Ethan feel less sick," Erin spat. "Having some nurse that deals with cancer patients and the elderly all day drop in to sit with him while he's on an IV for forty-five minutes a day?"

"It's not my problem," Gabby pushed back at her with that Latina diva glare and tone starting to really set in. "I'm sure Voight's got lots of contacts who he can call in favors from."

Erin looked at her. "Voight isn't asking you for a favor," she put flatly. "I am – and I'm just asking you for a name and if Brett might be qualified to do this. To maybe give us a bit of an introduction. And I'm asking for my baby brother – not Hank." Gabby gazed at her and Erin sighed and looked down. "I don't know how much Antonio has told you—"

"He doesn't talk about work," she said.

Erin let out a slow breath and found her eyes again. "Well, then add me to your shit list," she said. "I grew up in Voight's house. As his ward. Ethan is basically my baby brother. And he's hurting and he's scared right now. And I want to help make this easier and better for him."

Gabby eyed her but didn't say anything. Erin tried to imagine what was going through her mind but she also didn't really want to think about it. She traced her fingertips around some of the worn-in ridges on the bar-top.

"You know, Hank told me that one of the things that Casey threw back at him was that he didn't know what it was like in a spinal injury unit," Erin said more quietly. "And, maybe he doesn't. But he does know what it's like in a trauma brain injury unit – and I really can't see it being that different. Maybe it's even worse. Especially when you're in the pediatric section."

She looked up and found Gabby's eyes. The woman was examining her – clearly trying to gauge the point of the disclosure.

"Hank told Matt that it broke his heart what Justin had done. And that wasn't just a line. It did. It does. Our whole family's heart. Because we do know what recovering from that kind of injury looks like. We know that it's not a recovery. It's changing your life circumstances. It's constantly trying to adjust to new challenges that that injury brings on. And he hates … we all hate … that Justin was the cause of another family having to experience what our family has gone through too. But Justin has done his time. And so has Hank. And Ethan is a living reminder of it for all of us. One that doesn't go away. It's an ongoing sentence. And it's not one that a fucking seven-year-old … a twelve-year-old … deserves. We're … I'm … just trying to make it easier for him now."

"Erin …", Gabby said a little sympathetically.

"You should meet him," Erin interjected. "Casey should meet him. Let me bring him around Fifty-One one afternoon next week. Near the end of shift? If you still don't think you want to tell me who there might be willing to hook him up to an IV for us on occasion … then I understand. But please just meet him – and make your decision based on him. Not who his father is."

Gabby let out a slow breath but gave a little nod, and grabbed the bottle – walking away from her and farther down the bar.

"Thank you …" Erin whispered and gazed at the bar. She wished that she'd had Gabby pour her another shot before she left.

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE: Might do another crossover chapter with the Benson et al. from Welcome Home. Not sure how many SVU readers I have who'd appreciate this — or how many CPD readers who hate that concept — are kicking around. Comment or PM on the matter would help me gauge the interest or hatred.**


	62. Cop a Squat

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Erin pounded on the bathroom door with a closed fist. She was starting to get pissed off.

"ETHAN!" she bellowed. "Hurry up! I need to get ready for work too. AND I need to pee!"

She was sure he couldn't hear her over the shower. You couldn't hear anything over that bloody shower. Hank was so careful about the house and its security – and she was convinced if someone wanted to get in there and take him off-guard they just had to figure out his shower routine because he wouldn't hear a thing if anyone was breaking in the house while he was in there. You could hardly hear anything going on in the house when you were outside of the shower but someone was using it. The water pressure and the rattling pipes were ridiculous.

Not to mention only having one bathroom. She'd almost forgotten what a pain in the ass only having one bathroom was. All the times it'd caused problems and fights and delays in her teens. All the grossness of sharing a bathroom with Justin when he was in a similar age range as Ethan was now. And sharing bathrooms with boys that age was disgusting. There was no other way to put it.

Hank's bedroom door opened. He was still doing up his belt – but he was already in his perfectly pressed tshirt. He was militant about his ironing – just like he was cleaning, cooking and all other aspects of laundry. But other than making the last movement in doing up his belt – he was fully dressed, fully ready to head out the door and it was bloody 6 a.m. Another thing she'd almost forgotten about living with Hank. If you weren't leaving the house at 6:30 – you were late.

At that exact moment there was no way in hell she was going to be ready to leave the house at 6:30. That was fine with her. She could get to work herself. She could stop and get some real coffee and some toast on white bread with butter – without him giving her some sort of lecture about her eating habits too. She had to hear enough about it lately with Ethan. It was only going to be worse now that his reading was indicating that a big part of coping with the symptoms of M.S. was managing your diet. It was going to be hell listen to him brow beat Ethan about that. The poor kid was going to be lucky if his dad didn't insert a feeding tube to force feed him.

"What's going on?" Hank asked.

She gestured at the bathroom door annoyed. "He's taking a twenty minute shower," she grumbled.

Hank looked at the door. "Likely polishing his knob," he said flatly.

Erin gave him a look. "Yes, thank you, Hank. That hadn't already occurred to me and grossed me out enough. I appreciate you reintegrating that when I'm going to be the one getting in the shower next."

He barely acknowledged her sarcasm and pushed by her in the narrow hallway. "Chop, chop," he said.

"Ah, yeah," Erin said. "I'm trying. Maybe you want to tell your son that because I'm this far away from going out back and copping a squat out there."

Hank gave her a look, came the few feet back and turned the knob on the door, pushing it open a few inches. "Doors in this house don't have locks," he said flatly. "There you go."

She gave him a patronizing look. "And you want me to go in there and drop my shorts while your twelve-year-old son is in there potentially 'polishing his knob'," she said adding the air quotes for him. "Good plan, Hank."

He gave her a more annoyed look, pushed the door open the rest of the way and went inside himself, yanking the shower curtain partway back. Ethan startled and gaped at his father, instinctively reaching to cover himself up. Shampoo was subbed up in his long, shaggy hair and with his stopped work at it to look in horror at his dad, the subs were now running down into his eyes and he squinted and wiped madly at his face to stop the sting. Based on the look he was giving it was only making matters worse.

"Hurry it up in here," Hank barked at him. "We roll out in thirty minutes. Your sister still needs to get ready."

He yanked the curtain back in place and came back out the door, pulling it shut behind him.

"There you go," he said flatly.

"Thank you, Hank," she said sarcastically and rolled her eyes.

He clearly chose to ignore the attitude dispensement and headed down the stairs.

Erin sighed and rested her head against the jam, leaning against the wall, crossing her legs as she did so and trying to think about something else. Like why the hell she was there? She had a nice condo. With her own bathroom. And her own bedroom. And her own food. And privacy.

She knew why she was home. But … dear God … why was she home?

The water finally stopped and she pounded on the door with her hand again. "ETHAN!" she yelled. "I need to pee! Get out here! Now!"

There was a brief moment where she didn't think he was going to listen. But then the door popped open. He was still dribbling wet – a pool puddling around him – with a towel around his waist. Hank would hate that but Erin didn't care. She grabbed his arm and yanked him out the door, stepping frantically around him and slamming the door shut. She had her sleep shorts down around her ankles before she even got over to the toilet. She was in such a hurry that she almost forgot to tip the seat back down and didn't have a chance to flush down the urine that Ethan had left in the bowl. She didn't care. She just needed to empty her bladder. That was supposed to be the first thing she got to do when she woke up – not something she had to wait fucking twenty minutes to do. But fuck, that was the best a pee at felt in a long time. But that was fucked up. Peeing was just not supposed to feel that good.

"There's not much hot water left," Ethan called through the door while she was still having her ahhhhh moment of relief.

She gave her side of the door an annoyed look. "Great, Ethan, thanks," she spat in its direction. "That was really considerate."

Why? Why was she staying there?

"And I still need to brush my teeth," he called more loudly.

"You can wait!" she snapped. "Brush them after you eat breakfast."

"I like brushing them before," he provided flatly.

"I don't care," she muttered and then said more loudly. "I'm taking my shower now!"

She stood from the can and started stripping off her tank and kicking aside her shorts and panties. The little brat better not open the fucking door. No locks in this house.

Yeah, Hank. That's a real great policy. Like that hadn't blown up in anyone's face before. There were some things that family members just never needed to know about each other. There were some things that locks were made for. One of them – keeping twelve-year-old brothers out of the fucking bathroom when you're trying to take a shower.

She pulled open the curtain and did a quick cursory scan of the tub to make sure that she really wasn't visibly stepping into grossness. Theoretically she shouldn't be. But … still. The locker room at district was disgusting enough. She didn't need to bathe in disgusting before arriving in it.

"Dad says that you're sleeping in my room while Justin and Olive are here," Ethan called through the door again.

Erin gazed at the ceiling in annoyance. Yes, that made perfect sense. Justin and Olive would get her room. The double-bed. Not a fucking twin bunkbed. _But, thank you Hank for bringing that brilliantly logical plan to my attention not more than twelve hours before Justin and Olive roll in_. And again – WHY? Was she sleeping there? Why wasn't she going home to her condo to sleep on her over-priced mattress in her air conditioning?

"Go away, Ethan," she said. "Go get dressed."

"OK," he said. It was clear he likely had his nose almost touching the door to talk to her through it. "I just wanted to make sure you know you're getting the top bunk. It's too hot up there."

She heard his bare wet feet splatter across the hall to his room and the door close.

"Like hell I'm sleeping on the top bunk," she muttered.

Fuck. Like hell she was sleeping there at all. This plan was going to need some re-examination.

She let out a sigh and turned on the water. She cranked the hot water but when she put her hand under the faucet it still felt like an ice bathe.

"Fuck," she muttered and gazed at the water but then pulled the tab to send the shower spraying. Maybe it'd wake her up and cool her down. She needed that in more ways than one if she was going to get through the day – and the night.


	63. Here!

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Ethan was sitting up on his knees, hanging over the back of the couch, the curtain pulled back gazing out the window. It was like he was a little kid again at Christmas and he was on the look-out for Santa. Actually – it was exactly like that. Erin had seen the pose before. It'd been a lot cuter when he was a little boy waiting for a fake entity that wasn't ever going to show up until after he got tucked into bed. It was a little more annoying when it was a twelve-year-old waiting in restless anticipation for his brother's vehicle to roll down the street. It was starting to feel like that might never happen too. Or at least not while Ethan was waiting. It was like a whole watched pot thing – it never boils.

"Ethan," Erin snapped at him, "would you sit down? I can't see the T.V. around your ass."

She'd claimed the couch – comfortably. And the T.V. – for once. But she hadn't been allowed to indulge in that comfort and distraction for very long. He'd climbed over her outstretched legs and had been taking up space and disrupting her view of the movie for nearly an hour now. Not to mention crawling all over her shins in a way that was sure to leave them bruised with his fucking pointy knees. And asking endlessly when Justin and Olive were going to be there – interrupting her ability to follow the dialogue and plot of the old spy DVD she'd put in of Hank's.

He made a dramatic sigh and flopped around – now landing his ass nearly on top of her knees. She gave him a dirty look as she shifted under him to once again try to find a comfortable spot. She was having a "little brothers are incredibly over-rated" kind of day. Considering that Ethan was driving her crazy and that as soon as she got home from work Hank had her fucking cleaning and dusting and scrubbing in preparation for her other annoying little brother's arrival. Enough was enough. She just wanted Justin to get there too – so she could do her necessitated greeting – and then go to bed. Her very, very uncomfortable bed. It had been an exceedingly long week. She was exhausted. She could visit with Justin and Olive all weekend – when hopefully Ethan's initial euphoria about their arrival had worn off and he wasn't being quite as much of a spaz-case. The fucking steroids were making him rangy.

He gazed at the television a moment. "This movie is in black and white," he said flatly.

She cast him a look. "Thank you for that observation, Ethan," she said sarcastically.

"That's dumb," he put simply.

"It's actually a good movie," Erin said. "If you'd sit still and watch it."

He gave her a glance. "Is it one of Dad's?"

"Yes," she mumbled, shifting her eyes back to the T.V.

"His movies are boring."

"He feels the same way about your movies," Erin provided.

He gave her another look and then huffed and leaned against the back of the couch again, stretching his arm until just his fingertips managed to capture the curtain and he pulled it open a crack to try to peek over the couch and look out again.

"You said J would be here by eight," he said.

"I said the earliest he'd be here was by eight," she said flatly.

"It's after nine," Ethan lamented.

She shrugged. "Maybe they didn't get away as early as they wanted. Maybe they hit holiday traffic. Olive likely needed some bathroom breaks and to stretch her legs. They'll get here when they get here."

Ethan made a dramatic sigh. "Well, do you think Dad will let me stay up until they get here?"

"Doubt it," Erin said.

She probably should've been more accommodating. Advocate for Ethan. But she actually thought he needed to go to bed. She actually thought that Hank needed to stop banging around upstairs with the fucking air conditioner and come down and give Ethan one of the sedative pills so he could actually pass out some time this century. Preferably within the next two hours – or sooner.

"But it's the start of holidays," Ethan said. "And Justin is coming home. I should get to stay up later."

She shrugged. "Your dad is pretty strict about lights-out and curfew," she muttered.

It was true. Hank had always been militant about bedtime, lights-out and curfew. They were shitty items to challenge him on. The trade-offs to get extensions were rarely really worth it. And if you fucked up or toed on the line on any of those established times – well, you were asking for shit. Erin wasn't sure it was worth it to see Justin and Olive roll up the street. They were going to be tired and want to go to bed too – most likely. She wasn't sure what sort of fantasy Ethan had about what their arrival was going to look like.

Erin's vision of it was that Justin was likely going to be tired – and thus, he'd be moody. Because that's the way he was. Olive would be an eight-month pregnant woman who'd just be trapped in a car for an extended period of time with a moody, tired Justin – so she was likely going to be tired and grouchy too, though trying to mask it to be polite to Hank. Hank would try to act like he didn't care they were home – when in fact, he'd been looking forward to it for weeks. So instead he'd come off cold and removed, which mean Justin would try to overcompensate, which would then result in him saying something that annoyed Hank. And then they would get into it. After they'd then annoyed each other – that would be the exact time that Hank would deem most appropriate to tell Justin about Ethan – and then they'd really get into it. Until Justin raised his voice – pissed Hank off more – and then stomped upstairs (like he was still twelve) and attempted to cool down over night so they could pretend like they were a normal, functioning family for the remainder of the weekend. Until he could back her into a corner and ask her why the hell she wasn't keeping him in the loop and not caring that his father had wanted to tell him himself. So where exactly any of the happy-fun-brotherly time that Ethan was envisioning would fit? Well, Erin wasn't really sure. He was likely going to be disappointed. At least that night. They could go into the "pretend we're normal" disguise by morning and try to function appropriately. Things had been so much easier when Camille had been around to referee everyone and keep the clashes to a minimum. Then it wasn't so much "pretending" or "trying". They were a pretty "normal" family then. But now … well … it really likely would be better if Ethan went to bed and was asleep before Justin and Olive got there and any show ensued.

Hank came stomping down the stairs. Erin glanced at him.

"You get it working?" she asked.

He grunted. She didn't really need to ask. She could hear the thing shaking and rattling away. It sounded like the El was now travelling directly through their upstairs. No one was going to be able to sleep with that sound. Not to mention with it just going in now, it would be doing nothing to cool that level of the house down so that anyone slept any better in the first place. Erin seriously contemplated telling him to just turn it off – that they'd live with the fans. Or better – he should pay for Justin and Olive to stay in a hotel and she'd go back to her condo for the weekend. She was contemplating doing that anyway.

She's sort of tested Ethan's upper bunk when she moved some of her belongings from her usual room to her brothers' lair. She didn't need to climb all the wayup there to realize it just wasn't going to happen. She'd briefly flopped on the bed Ethan had made up on the lower level. It got the breeze from the fan but other than that it wasn't exactly a prime sleeping location or worth fighting him for either. She'd rather sleep on the couch than share the bunk bed with her brother. But Hank likely wouldn't go for that either. It'd disrupt his night prowling routine. Or she might move and then he'd have to come and see what the noise was. Because that was Hank. Not that he was likely to hear the noise over the rattling going on with the window unit he'd placed in his bedroom. She wondered how long it would be before he came to his own conclusion that it wasn't worth running.

"Dad! Can I stay up until J gets here?" Ethan asked eagerly when he saw his father.

"No," Hank said flatly.

"But—"

"Your upstairs at 9:30," Hank said.

"But it's kind of like a Friday night," Ethan protested. "It's the first night of the holiday."

Hank just cast him a warning look and kept making his way to the kitchen. He likely needed to hydrate after being up in the sauna that was the second-floor.

"Can I come back down if they get here after 9:30 and I'm still awake?" Ethan called after him.

"No," Hank barked.

"But—"

"Establishing a sleep routine with this is important," he called out firmly. "You're in bed at 9:30."

"Everyone gets to stay up later than that, Dad!" Ethan whined and stood from the couch, pursuing his father into the doorway of the kitchen. "I'm not a little kid."

"And you're not everyone," Hank said in usual form. "You're my kid. It's my house. And it's my rules. Upstairs at 9:30."

Erin heard him shuffling around and the rattle of a pill bottle and knew that Hank was getting the mandated evening medication. With Ethan being on steroids, he really need need a sedative these days or he likely never would settle down and sleep.

"I shouldn't drink before bed," Ethan protested weakly.

"Then swallow it without," Hank flatlined.

There was an audible grumble from Ethan but she could tell he'd taken the drink to wash down the pills.

Ethan came back into the front room and flopped on top of her feet again. She purposely gave him a kick that time and met his glare.

"I'm sitting here," she told him firmly. "You _aren't_ a little kid anymore. You can't just be throwing yourself on top of me."

"You're in the way," Ethan informed her.

"I was here first," she put back to him.

He just glared and grabbed at the curtains again, gazing out the window. "Why don't they hurry up?" he mumbled.

Hank came back in the room with a tall glass of water and ice cubes. He gave her a look. He likely felt she was in the way too. She was in his spot. But he managed to set himself in the one armchair without verbally informing her as much.

"They'll get here when they get here," Hank said flatly.

Ethan made an unimpressed noise and flopped his head on his arm on the back of the sofa, gazing out the window.

"Stop opening the drapes," Hank said. "They're closed for a reason. I don't like sitting in a fish bowl."

Ethan let his hand drop the curtain but whimpered a bit. "Now I won't be able to see when they are coming."

"They'll get here when they get here," he said again and then nodded at the stairs. "Go put on your pajamas."

He gave Hank a deadly squint at that. "It's not 9:30 yet."

"I don't want you dicking around up there after you're up there," Hank said. "You aren't doing anything now. Go put on your pajamas."

"But it's so hot up there I'm just sleeping in my underwear! I can't meet Olive in my underwear!"

"You'll meet Olive in the morning," Hank said, looking at his watch. "You've got ten minutes until bed."

Ethan let out a huff. "It's not fair," he mumbled.

"It's plenty fair," Hank said. "You'll have all weekend with them."

"But you and Erin will get to see them tonight!"

"Eth, Justin and Olive are going to be tired," Erin assured. "I'm tired. It's not going to be a long visit after they get here. Everyone will be going to bed soon."

"At 9:30?" Ethan said in disbelief. "No you won't!"

There was a sound of a vehicle slowing down in front of their house and the engine cutting out. Ethan near dived for the window, pulling back the curtain again, just as a door slammed outside.

"They're here!" he cried and went scurrying from the couch, bolting for the front door.

"Put on some shoes," Hank called after him. But he didn't listen. The door was already being pulled open and Ethan was out it and down the front steps, making a beeline for the curb.

"J!" he squealed with near glee.

Erin pulled back the curtain and gazed out as Justin scooped up his brother in a hug, tossing him around a little too recklessly given everything – everything he didn't quite know about yet – turning him upside down and giving him a noogie. Ethan was in a fit of laughter – the kind that Erin hadn't heard out of him for weeks. It made her smile a little. Maybe they could sort of manage normal.

She looked at Hank. "You ready?" she asked.

He just shrugged and pulled himself out of the chair, heading for the front stoop. Likely to stand there cross-armed and intimidating rather than welcoming.

Maybe not so normal.

And she didn't know how much laughter there would be going on after Ethan was in bed – and likely Olive had gone to lay down for the night too – and Hank sat Justin down for this man-to-man. Erin didn't think she was invited. But she also didn't think she even wanted to be in the house when that happened.


	64. Fucked Up

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

"You knew about this?" Justin's voice was beyond accusing. It just dripped with anger. It was anger that Erin had become used to hearing out of him – but he had seemed to have tempered it over the past year or so. Apparently not anymore. And now it was directed right at her.

She just cast a look across the table to Hank. Giving him an 'I told you so' look. Not that there really was any 'told you so' aspect to it. They both knew exactly how this was going to go. It was a lot of information to process and it was worse when it was just being dropped on Justin. When he felt left out of the loop.

"I wanted to talk to you about it face-to-face," Hank put flatly.

They were sitting at the patio table on the deck out back. Dragging the set out of the back building and hosing it down had been part of the evening's activities in preparation for Justin and Olive's arrival. Erin got the sense that Hank pretty much planned on having all of them in the back as much as possible. Not that the back lot was stunning – but it was definitely cooler than the house. At least in that moment. Now that the sun was long down a lot of the heat and humidity had been replaced with cool night air. If you stayed still enough you could almost feel the lake effect – the slight breeze. But Erin knew the real reason they were sitting out there was so that Ethan and Olive didn't hear too much of the conversation. That was only going to be so successful with open windows and the way Justin was rapidly raising his voice.

"How long as this been going on?" Justin demanded.

His eyes had drilled into her again but she just gave a weak shrug. She didn't know what answer Hank wanted to give to that. Since Wednesday. Since Saturday. Since Ethan got home. For months. For years. What was the first answer?

"We just got the diagnosis yesterday," Hank provided.

Justin's glare shifted to him. "You don't JUST get diagnosed with fucking multiple sclerosis."

"He's been acting a little off since he's been home," Erin provided. She was sitting closer to Justin and put out her hand over his but he yanked it away, casting her an even dirtier look.

"A little off?" Justin spat like he wasn't buying that. "You decided not to mention that?"

Erin let out a slow sigh and cast her eyes back to Hank.

"You saw him," Erin provided.

Justin's eyes drilled into her. "Yea," he said. "And he seemed beaten up and upset about being grounded and expelled. Other than that – he seemed like my little brother not a fucking …."

"A what?" Hank put to him sharply.

Justin's eyes rotated to him. "Multiple sclerosis?" he again spat. "He's a little kid. He's not fucking a shaking, drooling idiot in a wheelchair."

Erin let out a breath. "I think you might be getting M.S. confused with Parkinson's or ALS … or something …"

Justin's eyes snapped back to her. "And what are you the fucking expert?"

She glared at him. "No," she pressed annoyed. "But maybe you want to take the time to hear what your dad has to say – what the doctors told us. To read about –"

"TOLD US?" he barked and then looked back to Hank, though his hand pointed at her with an accusing family. "You took HER to the fucking appointment and you can't even CALL ME?"

"Your sister—"

Justin let out a laugh and hit the table. Erin could see where this was going too and rotated her eyes to gaze at the table. She really didn't want to be here for that. She didn't want to hear it. She didn't want to be the target it.

She'd been around since Justin was all of seven-years-old. He likely didn't have too many real memories when she hadn't been a part of the family. They'd been a part of each other's lives for fifteen years. But sometimes – when he was angry – he still felt the need to attack her place in the family. To remind her – like she needed a reminder – that she was just an honorary member. She wasn't blood.

She knew it was just out of anger. That it'd happened more in his teens. Maybe it'd happened a bit more after Camille was gone and again after his drunk driving incident. There'd been some resent that he was the one who ended up in jail. That it hadn't been her. That Hank had kept her out of jail – or worse – but he'd sent Justin packing. That she got to be the "golden girl" while he grew up to be the "prodigal son".

But all of that didn't change the way it felt when he said it. It stung. It brought up all her insecurities. It always made her feel like that fourteen-year-old fuck-up again that no one really wanted. Who was just being used by everyone around her. Who didn't have any place to go and sure as fuck didn't have anyone who cared about her. It made her have twinges where she felt like Camille hadn't been part of the discussion. That Hank had just brought her home. That Camille and Justin hadn't really wanted her there. That Camille had never seen her as a member of the family. That Justin still didn't. But she knew that wasn't true either. Camille had never done anything to make her feel unwelcome. She'd been strict – sometimes she got angry or annoyed – but she'd never been unwelcoming. And, as much as Justin had an ability to lose his cool and lash out – she knew that ever since he was a little kid, he'd leaned on her. He just had … some anger management issues. And, he was Hank's son – it wasn't like that was unexpected.

Still. She hated to hear it. It hurt in a way she never seemed to be quite prepared for – ever. No matter how long she was a participant in the family's life. No matter how much she felt like she contributed enough to be a valued member. Maybe she wasn't. She wasn't blood. Maybe even now she was just being used for a purpose. Hank's girl in CPD and now his babysitter and nursemaid at home.

"My sister …" Justin sputtered. "She is not –"

Hank cut him off before he could go any farther – leaning forward from his relaxed pose in the patio chair. "Your sister was here. She is here. Her focus can be here. You are not here. And your focus is needed elsewhere."

"Not here?" Justin said and slumped back in his chair, glaring across the length of the table at his dad. "And who's decision was that Pop?"

Hank smacked his lips and shared the stare. "Don't blame me for your choices, Son."

"My choices?" Justin said with amused disdain. "Why don't we talk about your choices, Pops? The ones that got us all here in the first place."

Erin let out a slow breath and shook her head, gazing at the table. "Justin, don't …" she whispered.

"Don't?" he spat at her and then pointed an angry finger at his father. "He gets Mom killed," he said with so much venom that Erin couldn't even bare to look at Hank to see how he took it. But she knew what his eyes went like when that was implied. At any mention of Camille, really. Hank didn't cry. But you could see a glint somewhere behind his deep wells. He didn't need to hear this from his own son.

"Justin, shut up," she said a bit more angrily.

"Shut up?" Justin went again. He was on a tear.

"If you can't fucking shut up, grow up," Erin spat at him even harder. "You're a fucking month away from being a father. Why don't you –"

"Yeah," Justin seethed. "I am. And I've listened to his fucking bullshit about grow up, man up, family for years. So here's the fucking reality. Here's how I see it. He gets Mom killed."

Erin let out a disgusted sound and finally cast a look in Hank's direction. He was sitting so still. Chewing on his cud in a way that he did when he was about ready to explode. But that still didn't stop Justin.

"He gets Ethan fucked up. Beyond fucked up. He fucks all of us up in the process. He lets me go to fucking jail. He goes to fucking jail. And his solution on how to deal with any of that? Send Eth away. To fucking boarding school – AND LEAVE HIM THERE. So he doesn't see shit. Now my baby brother has fucking multiple sclerosis? Where the FUCK were you?" he yelled across the table. "Where were you in doing your job? Being his FUCKING FATHER? Any of our father? You just … FUCKED … all of us up. Ethan. Me. Mom! Her," he said and swung his one arm madly in Erin's direction.

The battered screen door creaked open from the kitchen – closest to Hank.

"You're supposed to be in bed," he snapped almost immediately without even looking. But he must've known it was Ethan.

But Ethan ignored his bark and stepped out onto the deck. Even under the dim patio lights, Erin could see how much his eyes were brimming. The light reflected to show streaks of tears that had already run down his face that he'd tried to wipe away but hadn't done a very good job at hiding evidence of. His eyes set on the end of the table where her and Justin were sitting. He eyed his brother with such a heavy sadness that Erin was sure that he'd heard everything. But as she looked at him she realized that he at vomit caking the front of his tshirt and a wet mark on his shorts. The sight made her eyes well a bit too.

"Oh, Eth …" she said and started to push her chair back but Hank gave his youngest a longer look at her reaction and held up a hand, raising himself.

"I've got it," he said and stood giving Ethan's shoulder a little squeeze and directing him back into the house.

"I couldn't find the sheets," she heard Ethan tell his dad in a tone that made clear just how embarrassed he was and how hurt by whatever he had heard.

He hadn't said anything to Justin. But his face had shown that his glee his older brother was home. That was gone. That excitement faded. His vision of the fun-filled weekend likely gone.

Erin didn't know how much of a weekend it was going to be for any of them now. Everyone would calm. Water would go under the bridge. But you could only forget so much of the words that had been spoken.

"You really think you needed to say that," Erin spat at Justin as the door clattered by shut and she heard Hank and Ethan's footsteps move outside of the kitchen and hopefully at least out of immediate earshot. Though she doubted it. "You think he doesn't blame himself enough that you need to throw that kind of bullshit at him?"

Justin rotated his head from staring at the closed door to look at her. "What was that?" he asked, ignoring her statement.

She let out an amused out and shook her head. She was so angry with him in that moment. And he could be so fucking clueless. That just made her angrier, though.

"That," she said and gestured toward the door. "Well, it looks like your brother puked. The one medicine makes him pretty nauseated."

Justin just eyed her. "And pissed himself?" he asked flatly.

Erin shook her head and examined the table for a moment before finally looking up and finding Justin's eyes. "Yeah, and pissed himself," she provided. "Because he has so much inflammation around parts of his nervous system and nerve-endings right now – things aren't communicating so well. He's having a bit of trouble with his bladder … and bladder control. And talking about that with you – explaining some of this stuff – that's what we could've been doing. If you hadn't had to go … and make it personal. Because good job, Justin, you hurt your dad. But pretty sure you've hurt and embarrassed Ethan more."

She moved to really stand at that point. Justin gazed at her. "Where are you going?"

"Inside," she said annoyed. "Hank could likely use some help cleaning up. Starting laundry. And, you know … when there's tears … it's more my territory."

She moved around the table and headed for the door but then turned back to him. "Your dad has been so proud of you lately," she put to him sharply. "Your training. Your career prospects. Olive. The baby. He really thought you were growing up. That you were getting your life in order. And, he's been really looking forward to this weekend. Him and Ethan. And then …" she just shook her head at him.

"Maybe you should calm down and actually take a look at your dad this weekend. Maybe you need a reality check about what being a dad – being a parent looks like – before your son gets here. You might think he's been a shitty father – but right now he is up there with a sick little boy who's FUCKING TERRIFIED about what's happening to him right now. And your dad is doing his best to keep him calm and everything in perspective. And right now he is cleaning up vomit and urine off the clothes, bed and body of a twelve-year-old, Justin. He is taking his son in for fucking IVs and needles and tests and appointments – and trying to make it seem normal. And not a big deal. And something we can all cope with. That he's going to be fine and still have a fulfilling and rewarding life. And you come home … and in all of … five minutes … you …" she just shook her head again. She didn't even know what to say to him.

"It's you who's been the crappy family member," she finally pressed out, finding his eyes. "The past five years. We get it. Your mom dying hurt you. It's hard for you to deal with. But it hurt Ethan and your dad too. It hurt me too. But you're the one …" she didn't want to say it. But she sometimes felt it. He was the one who'd torn down the family. He'd found the ways to make it hurt more. To make it all harder. She couldn't say that to him, though. It wouldn't make her much better than what he'd just done to Hank. "These past three years you haven't been there for any of us. And Ethan and your dad have needed you. Just … you tell your dad that you'll take care of your family. Start fucking today, Justin. Now. Don't wait for wedding bells or your baby to get here. Start now. Because you should know better. You had a good example – whether you think so or not."

She pulled open the door and went into the kitchen – leaving him sitting on the deck. She didn't want to look at him any more that night. She wasn't sure she wanted to look at him for the rest of the weekend.


	65. Henry

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Olive kept giving Hank shy – almost embarrassed – glances from across the table. He wasn't exactly surprised. He knew that the whole situation – from the first day they'd met … or re-met - hadn't been ideal. Awkward. Last night had only added to that. He wasn't sure if Olive had heard much of the exchange on the deck but he could tell that when Justin had finally slipped upstairs, she'd been awake and he could hear the quiet murmuring of them talking. Not loud enough to make out what had been said at all but he could imagine without much imagining at all.

Justin hadn't appeared yet that morning. Hank was giving him the benefit of the doubt. That he was tired from work and the drive. That he'd been up late talking to his fiancée. He'd heard Olive up several times during the night and in the bathroom. That likely had Justin awake too. He was likely just getting some shut-eye now that Olive had moved downstairs. But he knew it was more likely that Justin was probably now avoiding him after his tantrum the night before. In a way Hank was OK with that. He wasn't exactly ready to look at his son again yet. But at the same time, they all had to get over it. Time to move on. He wanted his weekend with his family. To spend some time with his son for likely the last time before his grandson was on the scene. Then he'd be more focused on getting a chance to see his grandchild than whatever the fuck his son was up to – unless his son was fucking up his grandson. Then that would be a different story. But that weekend, he really just wanted them to get along. For once. Ethan needed that too. Though, he wasn't sure Ethan was really looking at the weekend with quite the same eyes at that point either.

Hank had ended up bringing Ethan back downstairs for the night. Let him sleep on the couch where it was cooler and away from the noise. Hank had propped himself up in the armchair and stared at him. Ethan hadn't seemed to mind – at least after the anti-nausea pill and the sedative set in again. Until that point he hadn't much minded either since Hank had let him turn on the T.V. at low levels and the boy had just stared at it until his eyes eventually drifted shut. Hank's hadn't ever really shut. He'd been up. Watching his boy. Making sure he was OK. Working out more how he was going to get this all to work out. And, running the conversation through his mind. And the past. Thinking about things he'd rather not think about. Things he couldn't change. Events that couldn't be undone. Mistakes that couldn't ever be rectified. Blame that he didn't much want to feel – but did.

Olive had been the first one up in the morning. He suspected Erin might be awake but was also staying out of sight for the moment. She was likely plotting her escape. She wouldn't want to have a weekend playing referee. He knew she felt like that's what she ended up doing most of the time when he and Justin were in the same room.

Olive had crept down the stairs quietly enough considering how big she was in her late-stage pregnancy now. She was likely going to hate that the only bathroom was at the top of the stairs. When she did manage to get down the stairs, she actually seemed a little surprised when she saw him sitting there and Ethan spread out on the couch. Hank thought she'd even vaguely contemplated trying to excuse herself back upstairs. But he'd tried to keep it normal and civil – getting up and starting the kettle to make her a herbal tea. To get some breakfast going.

Ethan had been up as soon as he smelled food. One thing Hank would say for the steroids was that it was giving his son an appetite. Unfortunately, another drug in the IV was making him a vomit machine by the mid-evening, it seemed. But he could still get some food into him at breakfast. They'd see how that breakfast went, though. He was getting food into him, but with the day off, he'd scheduled the earliest slot he could get to take him in for his IV. He'd been hoping that he'd get it out of the way before too much of the day had disappeared so his youngest could have time with his older brother. If he wanted that now. But it might mean that Ethan would be puking by mid-afternoon. And, that he'd be playing just as shy and embarrassed with Justin as he was with Olive.

Ethan was like that with most people. It hadn't helped much the night before Ethan had heard anything he'd heard – which he hadn't copped to yet despite his upset being apparent. Though, Hank knew part of that had been him having to step in front of Justin covered in vomit and piss. That wasn't the way his boy would want big brother to see him. Ethan liked to pretend that he was a tough guy. He thought that was what Justin was … what Hank was. So he had to project it. He didn't do a very good job at it most of the time. Still too much of a kid. The funny part was that under it, Hank knew his boy was one tough little fucker. He had to be to still be around and still kicking the way he did. But even eliminating that from the equation, Ethan had been thrown off from Olive and Justin's arrival when they had been trying to get Ethan to remember having met her before.

Ethan's memory from his early childhood was so spotty. And who really remembered that much in terms of random faces from their childhood anyways? Hank couldn't even remember having met Olive while Justin was in high school. Though, Erin remembered her. And, Hank was sure Camille would've. He supposed he just hadn't been around enough in that period. He'd started taking his eye off his family. Maybe that really was the cause of everything when you got right down to it. But nothing was ever quite that cut and dry.

But the two of them doing that had agitated Ethan a bit. Caused him to withdrawal. Magoo got real self-conscious when he realized that he wasn't remembering something that everyone else thought he should remember or that they could remember and he couldn't. It was another startling reminder to him of what worked and didn't work in that head of his. Them pushing it had actually resulted in Ethan rather readily accepting it was his bedtime and heading upstairs – making a rapid retreat from the imposed memory that he just didn't have.

To avoid having to talk to Olive now, Ethan was sitting and decorating his waffle like an American flag. Blueberries were getting dropped individually into the squares of one corner while strawberry and banana slices were getting placed in little fidgety rows across the rest of it.

Any other time Hank would likely snap at him about playing with his food – but he didn't. Just let him be a kid – and thank God that whipped cream wasn't an option on the table because the breakfast would likely be an even larger artistic endeavor then. He was almost contemplating yelling at Erin to get her ass down there to see. He thought she'd get a kick out of it. And she could get away with teasing Magoo about it without his feelings getting hurt or him thinking he was being chastised.

"You going to eat any of that, Magoo?" Hank asked as it finally looked like he might have the thing completely covered in fruit. Hank was OK with that. He wasn't OK with it if he wasn't actually going to ingest it and had just manhandled and wasted food.

Ethan just gave him a glance as he tried to get the last few berries in place. Inevitably it caused some of the row of strawberries to shift and then he was fidgeting with that. He was OCD about this stuff. Ridiculous sometimes. It fucking drove Hank crazy – but it also wasn't worth getting upset over. It was one of Ethan's quirks. He had so fucking many of them. Sounded like he was just going to develop more over time now as the M.S. progressed. As his body grew and his damaged mind didn't keep up. As the full extent of his brain injury really became more apparent. Hank didn't think it had been stressed to him as much as there fucking doctors thought that some of it wouldn't be apparent until puberty and adolescence. It was this stark fucking reminder of just how hurt his son had been. How much that event had changed the course of all their lives. Something they were still continuing to have to live with. Always would. The holes were real.

Olive was watching Ethan with some bewildered amusement and slowly eating her own waffle – which she hadn't gone crazy with like Ethan. Hank was trying to read her a bit. Figuring out what she was seeing while looking at his youngest. If she was thinking about her own kid's arrival and all that lay ahead. If she was looking at Ethan to try to see what Justin was like at that age or what her child might be like. Or if it was concerned sympathy from whatever she was privy to about Ethan at this point. He hated sympathy. He didn't want his kid to have it. Ethan didn't need coddling – especially from his own family. It was their responsibility to push him and to make him live up to all his potential. To be 'normal' – whatever the fuck that meant.

"It's really good," Olive offered. It was clearly directed as an encouragement to Ethan but she cast Hank a look too. "I really like the blueberry syrup."

"It's compote," Ethan said flatly without looking up.

Hank gave him a look. "You going all high class on us?"

The boy glanced up and squinted at him. "No …" he said cautiously, confused. "It's compote. Not syrup."

Hank just shook his head and gave Olive a look. "It's boiled blueberries," he assured.

She allowed a thin smile. "Whatever you call it, it's good," she reaffirmed.

Hank gave her a thin smile of acknowledgement and lifted his coffee to take a slow sip. It was all he was working on that morning. He was going to need several more cups after the kind of night it was. After the way the week had gone. And the weekend and the week before that. And the past five years before that. And an entire fucking career and parenthood of sleepless nights. It was starting to catch up to him. He was feeling it more. Maybe he really was reaching grandpa age. Not something he'd ever really thought he'd see. He didn't think he'd likely live that long.

"You want me to make you one?" Ethan asked suddenly, jerking him out of his morbid line of thought. He cast his boy a look and gazed at the apparently completed waffle.

"No," Hank said flatly. He didn't much feel like waffles – despite making them for his boy and his almost daughter-in-law. He was fine picking at the cut fruit he'd put on the table. Not that Ethan had left much with all his creative efforts. Ethan made a disappointed sound so Hank suggested, "Make one for your sister."

Ethan lit up a bit at that and snagged one of the remaining waffles off the plate at the center of the table and started to work on decorating it – completely ignoring the pile of food he'd made for himself. Hank was going to have to force-feed it to him later.

Hank stood from the table and went back to the counter to cut a bit more fruit. Ethan was going to need more if he was making another one of these things for Erin.

"Erin better get up soon," Ethan muttered as he started on his next creation. "It's her turn to take me."

Hank glanced across the kitchen. "I'm taking you," he said flatly. He saw that Olive caught his eye at it, a sad look playing across her face but she looked away quickly again. So she'd been told at least something to understand what they were referring to. "Let your sister sleep in."

"Until eight," Ethan said matter-of-factly. "Not allowed to sleep passed that."

Olive made an amused noise at that and Hank again tried to give her a thin smile. He didn't want her to spend the whole weekend wishing she was somewhere else too.

"So she can still take me," Ethan added more firmly, casting a bit of an accusing look at Olive's noise.

"I'll take you," Hank provided again.

Olive made another small noise and Hank looked in her direction again. He'd initially intended it to be a slightly warning look – that her reaction was going to agitate Ethan and if Ethan was playing strange with her, it was likely going to be an even longer weekend for all of them. But when he got her in her line of vision he saw that she'd moved her hand to her abdomen and was looking at her baby bump with a small smile. It made a small smile tug at the corners of Hank's mouth too.

"He bugging you?" he asked.

Olive gave him a glance and more genuine smile. "Yeah," she allowed. "He's real active most mornings."

Hank allowed the smile to show a bit more and gave a little nod.

"You wanna feel?" Olive asked.

Hank shook his head. "It's OK," he provided.

Olive shrugged at him. "And it's OK, if you do," she said. Almost like she saw some flicker of interest in him but his reluctance to be manhandling some woman that wasn't his wife – especially his son's finance when his son wasn't too happy with him at the moment. Even if the woman did happen to be carrying his grandchild.

But the offer shifted his thoughts a bit. If she was offering …

Ethan was watching with some interest.

"You can feel the baby moving?" he asked curiously.

Olive nodded. "You wanna feel?" she offered to him as Hank washed his hands from his fruit chopping and dried them off on the towel before heading over to where she was sitting.

Ethan looked about as reluctant as Hank had but the curiosity about it was painted across his face and he leaned a bit closer to Olive in his chair. She reached out and took his hand and gently placed it on her rounded belly.

Ethan squinted as his hand landed there. He clearly wasn't feeling anything but then he suddenly jumped and pulled his hand back, gapping at her.

Olive smiled even more at that. "It's OK," she assured. "It's just your nephew."

Ethan gazed at her – or rather her belly - in some wonder. "Is he boxing?" he asked.

Olive let out a small laugh. "Kickboxing, maybe," she suggested. "I'm pretty sure that's his foot."

Ethan just kept staring – like maybe he was going to see the baby's foot somehow penetrate through her skin and make itself more apparent. But Olive shifted her attention to Hank. Hank wasn't one to fidget but he did feel a little strange standing there. He wasn't sure he knew this woman well enough or felt close enough to her to be doing this – but it was his grandchild. That was important to him. He wanted to have an established place in the boy's life. Badly. And he knew that would be challenging given the ebbs and flows his and Justin's relationship went through and with him being in the service. He was only going to get to be a part of their lives so much. He had to make the most of it. For Camille too. She'd be over the moon about a grandchild on the way. Spoil the baby rotten. It was opening new wounds in him – unexpected ones – as he revisited how she was missing this. The why behind her missing it. The fault and the blame on why she didn't get to experience this.

But then Olive's hand was on his wrist much like she had with Ethan's – apparently sick of waiting for him to make his own move. He might not have. But he still wasn't too used to being touched. By much of anyone. His kids were about the only ones allowed to get near enough to him for that – and even that was a limited terms sort of thing. It almost made me pull back. But he steadied himself.

Olive had timed grabbing his hand well and got his hand placed just as the baby let out a full heel kick. Hank could full-on feel the pointy extremity vibrate with force up through the skin and muscle.

"Oh wow," he said and gave Olive a little smile. But she was glowing at it.

"Yep, he's a kicker," she said.

The baby definitely was. The movement continued and Hank moved his hand slightly across her bump to keep up with it.

"Little Ass Kicker," Ethan said proudly. Hank cast him a disapproving look. "What?" he defended. "It's from Walking Dead."

Olive grinned. "Justin says the same thing."

"Mmm…" Hank allowed. Just what his family needed: Another ass kicker. Like they didn't have enough of wannabes in that category already. The baby kicked again, though, like he wanted to reaffirm that he was part of the group. "Haven't felt this in a long time," he muttered a bit.

He kind of liked it.

"We could call him Hank the Tank instead," Ethan suggested.

He didn't much like that suggestion.

"Mmm …" Hank allowed again, again the baby moving against his hand. It was almost like he was finding it each time. Like it was some sort of goal post set up for him to kick at. Maybe they had a fucking soccer player on their hands. He'd have to hope for football. Fucking soccer players.

"I think we're just going to stick with Henry Richard," Olive said but kept her eyes away from Hank like she was embarrassed by it.

"That's Dad and Grandpa," Ethan provided.

"You know, you don't have to do that," Hank said, drawing his hand away. "No matter what Justin thinks."

Olive shrugged. "It's what we both want," she said. "Besides, I think it suits him."

"Decided that already?" Hank put mildly and started to move back to the counter.

Olive gave him a smile and moved her own hand back to her belly. "Oh, yeah," she said. "He gets all excited when we use it already. It's a politer way of saying Ass Kicker."

Hank let out a quiet amused sound and gave her a bit of an awkward smile. Ethan looked confused, though.

"So we do get to call him Little Ass Kicker?" he asked.

Olive smiled. "You get to call him Henry."

"Oh, Henry …" Ethan said mildly but cast his dad a look like he'd just made a funny that he'd never heard before.

Poor kid, Hank thought. Shitty name and legacy from the get.

Hopefully legacy didn't follow along with the name. Or at least only the positive aspects of it.

Someone needed a bright future in the bunch of them.


	66. Cold Shoulder

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Hank reached and pulled out a number in the butcher's shop, glancing at it. The place was jam packed of people picking up their various meat and sundries for long weekend barbecues, summer kick-offs and family get-togethers. It was going to be a bit of a wait. Likely longer than he would've liked. Should've called Pat and put in an order ahead so he could just jostle his way up to the kid dealing with pick-ups rather than having to wait and get his order. At least he knew it was fresh that morning then, though. But he was going to have to compete with the rest of the fools for the meat left – when they were already getting there later than they should if they wanted a decent pick.

Ethan's IV appointment had taken longer than expected. The place had had a bit of a skeleton staff with it being the holiday weekend. So it had seemed to take forever before the nurse actually came around and got the drip hooked up to him. Ethan wasn't taking that well. When they did finally get the drip going it quickly became clear that getting breakfast into Magoo before the appointment hadn't been the best idea. He was puking within about five minutes of the IV being started. It was such a spectacular spewing that they pulled him off it, had a doctor in and ran some tests. Turns out he was allergic to one of the medications in the bag.

Sometimes Hank really hated fucking doctors. They'd done some good things for his family. But sometimes it just seemed like a royal fuck-up waiting to happen whenever he stepped in there with his kid. No wonder he hated having to take his boy to the fucking appointments.

That got sorted out and adjusted. New drip got started. Along with some stuff to calm the allergic reaction and to rehydrate Eth from all the vomiting he'd been doing that had previously been written off as just an upset stomach from the steroids. Apparently Hank telling them that his son was puking at home after the treatments wasn't enough – they needed to see it in action to actually listen. Fucking morons.

But at least it seemed to be sorted now. It just meant the meat of their day was starting later than anticipated. They'd lost most of the morning.

He plopped his hand on Ethan's head and he looked up at him hesitantly. He wasn't as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as he'd been the night before. Even compared to the morning at breakfast, he just looked tired. Not enough sleep that night and a rough morning. Hopefully he'd perk up a bit as the day went on or he'd agree to go up to his room and rest for a bit – or else he was likely going to be a grumpy fucker by mid-afternoon likely. They didn't really need another grumpy little fucker in the house. Hank figured he generally did a good job at that role and with Justin home they definitely had a second resident in that category. Erin's nose seemed to be a bit out of joint about the night before too. So it wasn't like they were anywhere near being off to a good start for a family weekend. But – fuck – Hank was trying to come up with a weekend – a holiday – they'd all been together. It'd been years. Probably close to three.

Justin and Erin, though, they were both at points in their lives they needed more of that. Coming home. It being stable and welcoming there when they did. They needed it for different reasons. But it was something he was going to have to figure out how to provide. They didn't do a very good job at being that happy, normal family. It was more like they were that family get-together that you felt like you had to go to and didn't really want to but made yourself make the appearance on the grounds you'd get out of there as soon as possible – and there was always going to be some confrontation during it. Camille would really fucking hate they'd come to that.

"Magoo, go grab that mustard I like for me," Hank said.

His son frowned at him. "Dad…" he whined.

Hank knew his protest before he even got it out of his mouth. He couldn't read. But he stopped him. "You know what the label looks like," he put flatly. Ethan huffed at him but started to try to nudge around the people there – to disappear into the crowd. "Check out the barbecue sauce and hot sauces too," Hank ordered. "See if anything looks interesting. Bring it over."

Ethan gave him a small glance that proved enough of an acknowledgement he'd heard. Hank jostled a bit more to find a space along the back wall, Justin nudging to stand next to him. But Hank barely acknowledged him. He'd told his son to go out with Erin – get the produce and general grocery run done. He hadn't listened. Apparently three of them stuck in his crowded made more sense in his mind.

Hank gazed through the people up at the display and the lists on the chalkboards. Choices were dwindling in the display but newly prepped offerings were being brought out occasionally – so hopefully he'd be able to get what the kids wanted and not just scrape the bottom of the barrel.

"I'm getting some of the turkey burgers for your brother and sister," he mumbled at Justin. "Let me know what you and Olive want."

Justin gave him a glance. "He still doesn't eat beef?"

Hank just shrugged at him. Didn't exactly feel like it was a conversation starter. There were lots of things Ethan didn't eat. There was all kinds of food now that arguably should be avoided to help managed M.S. symptoms. He wasn't going to play dietician and give Justin the rundown. It wasn't need-to-know information.

"Turkey's good," Justin allowed after a silence hung between them.

Hank just nodded. Wasn't going to argue. Getting all the same thing was easier than having to operate a fucking restaurant on the grill.

Silence stood between them again. As the bell above the door rang, a familiar face came in and caught sight of Hank, giving him a grin.

"Gus," he acknowledged.

That's the problem with shopping in the neighbor – especially when he had the kids in tow. Always ran into someone he knew. He knew too many fucking people.

"Hey," Gustav glowed and stuck his hand out for shakes from him and Justin. Pounding on Justin's bicep several times as he pumped his hand. "Got this one in town for the weekend, huh?"

"Mmm," Hank acknowledged again.

"Heard you're making this one a grandpa?" Gus put to Justin while jabbing a thumb Hank's way.

"Yeah," Justin acknowledged a little uncomfortably.

"Yeah?" Gus said a bit more excitedly. "When's the baby getting here?"

"Due July 30th," Justin provided.

Gus glowed at that. "Thirtieth? That will be here quick." He cast his smile at Hank. "Hey, heard you've got your little guy in Little League this year and he's got quite the arm?"

"Mmm," Hank allowed again.

"Yeah?" Gus gushed. "I should come out to a game. Check that out."

Hank gave a little nod. "His team ain't much to look at."

"Ah, well," Gus said dismissively. "Shoot the shit with the other spectators. Lots of CPD kids in the mix?"

Hank shrugged. "Some. Got a lot of Fire."

"Ah!" Gus said. "There's why they ain't much to look at!"

Hank allowed him a thin smile at that. But Gus just pounded against his bicep again and started to push in the general direction of the pick-up counter. "You have a good Fourth," he provided. "And send up the smoke signal or something when that baby gets here. Just what this city needs … another Voight."

Hank gave him a courtesy nod and a thin smile for that. But just fell silent again as the retired cop got away from them. He didn't feel much like chit-chat that morning – not with the wildlife and not with his older son, even if it was about his grandchild.

"Erin said you had E at the hospital this morning?" Justin finally asked – even though it was clearly more of a statement.

"Mmm …" Hank allowed.

"That it's a daily thing?"

"Mmm …" he provided again.

"You wanna give me a bit more than that Pop?" Justin spat with some frustration.

Hank looked at him and gestured at the mass of people around them. "You think here is a good time and place to talking about your brother's health?"

Justin eyed him. "Well, I didn't realize that this is like a daily thing," he said flatly.

Hank just shrugged. "For now," he allowed.

Justin let out a frustrated sound. "So you going to give me the cold shoulder all weekend too?"

Hank gave him an unimpressed look.

Justin shrugged at him and crossed his arms – still pulling off that spoiled little boy look even though he was a man now. "Erin made pretty clear we aren't on friendly terms right now."

Hank made an amused noise and caught his son's eye. "Your sister has a right to be upset with you," he put flatly.

"Yea, sure, Pop," Justin muttered.

Hank just continued to glare at him. "You want to do this here?" he put to his grown son again. But Justin just crossed his arms tighter. "OK," Hank shrugged. "You pulling that 'not my sister' bullshit – I think we've all had about enough of it. Erin has put a hell of a lot into this family and it's fucking hurtful and disrespectful – not just to her – when you pull out that line."

"That wasn't –"

Hank didn't let him talk. He just glared at him. "After your mother died – and your brother was in the hospital – it was Erin who kept house. For all of us. For you."

"I didn't need –"

"Yea," Hank spat. "You did. You were fucked up about all of it. About your mom. About your brother. Someone needed to be there. To help you keep it together."

"Yea, she did a real good job at that," Justin muttered.

"Your choices and your mistakes are not Erin's," Hank said. "And it was your fucking mistakes that again put your sister in the position of having step up in the family. Who the fuck do you think had to get Ethan to boarding school? To visit him? To deal with all that shit? For those months?"

"Now you getting locked up and sending E away is my fault too?" Justin said.

Hank just glared at him and smacked his lip. He didn't think he needed to fucking answer that. Hank had made his own choices and mistakes in all of that – but it was Justin who'd made the fucking choice and mistake that had lead to it. They could go back further and still say it was Hank's fault – that he hadn't been available enough for his son, that he'd taken his eye off his boy, that he'd failed his family. He went there all the time on his own accord. But the reality was him trying to get his son out of trouble was what got him into trouble and created the domino effect that had real fucking implications for a little boy.

"You didn't have to send him away," Justin put flatly. "If Erin's so great why didn't –"

"You think she didn't say she would?" Hank spat at him. "I made a choice. I tried to look out for her interests too. She had a job. A career. That wasn't going to get derailed for your sake too so she could look after your little brother."

He could feel Justin seething but Hank just pointed over at where Ethan was twisting the various sauce bottles at the opposite end of the butcher shop.

"And, now, again, it's your sister home helping with that," he pressed.

Justin gave him a look. "I told you that me and Olive would help out any way we could. Take him for a weekend or whatever."

Hank nodded. "And, I appreciate that offer, son. And, I'm sure after you have made some amends with Eth, he's going to want to get out there for a weekend. But, you know what, J? It's pretty easy to offer to take a kid for a weekend when you get to be the cool big brother for all of forty-hours. When you live fucking eight hours away. Erin's in the trenches of this. Day in, day out. She doesn't get to be the cool big sister. She's just his sister. A fucking adult in his life. A woman in his life. And every time you say something to demean what she's doing for your brother and for this family – you make it sound like she doesn't have a legitimate role – I want to smack you."

"Yea, Erin the saint," Justin muttered.

Hank glared at him. "No," he shook his head. "Don't fucking do that. Erin has her fucking problems and makes her own fucking mistakes too. She's as much of a pain in my ass as you. None of this 'golden girl' bullshit of yours either. That pisses me off too."

Justin was glaring at him. But was interrupted by Ethan coming back. He clutched two bottles and a jar in his hands. He held them up at Hank. He examined them.

"Got the right mustard," he informed the kid and nodded at the hot sauce and the barbecue sauce he'd picked. He suspected the hot sauce was likely because he liked the cartoon picture on the front. "Sauce has got mango in it," Hank told him. Ethan just shrugged at that. Apparently that was OK. Or the kid thought it was at that moment. He just gestured up at the display case. "See if you can get up to check out the sausage. Figure out what kind we're gonna get."

"Polish," Ethan said definitively.

"Yea," Hank acknowledged. "See what else he's got up there."

Ethan sighed. "They all just look like sausage, Dad," he said.

"Go look," Hank ordered a bit more firmly.

Ethan let out a noise but moved to start dodging people again.

"You baby him too," Justin muttered.

Hank cast him an unimpressed look. "You going to tell me I didn't hug you enough as a kid now? Enough of the crocodile tears, Justin."

"You didn't hug me," Justin put flatly. "I'm going to hug my kid."

Hank made a noise and glared at him. "You were hugged all the time, son," he put to him firmly. "All the time. You decided on your own when you were about eight that you were too grown up and too cool for that."

"Yea, wonder who I might've gotten that idea from," he muttered.

Hank let out an annoyed breath and cast him a look. "I hug my kids," was all he provided. He wasn't going to argue it.

"You'd never do this fucking … restaurant routine for me," Justin said. "It's on the plate. Eat it."

Hank cast him a look. "And when it's on the plate – he's going to eat it," he said firmly.

Justin just shook his head like he was grossly unimpressed and it made Hank's internal anger flair again. He jabbed a finger through the crowd again.

"Take a look at him, Justin," he said. "Take a good look at him. Does he look normal height or weight to you? Does he look healthy?"

"If you hadn't had him in boarding school –"

"I fucking acknowledge I made a mistake leaving him there," Hank spat out at him, glaring at him and fighting to hold back his rage in public – in the midst of this crowd. "But even if he was home – he'd fucking have M.S. right now, Justin. Maybe he would've been diagnosed a bit sooner – but it wouldn't have made a difference. It wouldn't have stopped it. And right now, your brother isn't feeling well. He's in more fucking pain than he's letting on. His head and his body aren't working right. And, I'm supposed to be getting this food and medicine into him. So if he wants a fucking turkey burger and mango barbecue sauce – then I am buying fucking turkey burgers and mango barbecue sauce. You don't need to be busting my balls about this. Making it sound like you're so fucking hard done by and he's somehow getting some sort of special treatment in his childhood. For fuck's sake."

They both glared ahead.

"He put a lot of effort into planning what he wanted at this fucking barbecue for you and Olive," Hank finally muttered. "So maybe tone down the fucking attitude a bit too before you upset him again."

Justin glanced at him. "He's giving me the cold shoulder too."

Hank cast him an annoyed look. "No," he said. "Right now, he's embarrassed because he fucking idolizes you – which is something you've never seemed to have understood. What your role as his older brother is. Just how fucking important it is what example you set for him. And what example have you been setting for him in his memory, J? Is it one you'd be proud to have him follow? Right now his idol just saw him covered in puke and urine. And he thinks he overheard you saying our family would be better off if he'd died. And, I got to fucking explain to a kid how no one in this family feels that way when right now he's already fucking terrified about what his life is going to look like now with this M.S. bullshit thrown into the mix. So, yeah, Justin, you've got some bridges to mend with him. You do with all of us."

Justin glazed at him.

Hank didn't want to feel this upset with him. He'd thought his son had turned some corners. Right now he didn't know.

"You should've called me when all this was going on," Justin said.

"Why?" Hank put to him. "What was there for you to do besides get yourself upset? Your sister calls you when he gets expelled and you come home. You can't be running home every time something comes up with Ethan. You'll get yourself in a world of shit with your job – and you've got a baby on the way who needs you home."

"You should've told me," he said firmly.

Hank met his eyes. "I wanted to tell you in-person. I wanted the grown-ups in this family to have a real conversation about it. But rather than grown-ups I got some fucking snotty teenager spouting the usual bullshit at me."

Justin sighed and looked away. "Olive says that they'd talked a little bit about M.S. patients in her physical therapy classes. She might be able to show you some stuff …" he said quietly.

Hank gave a little nod of acknowledgement. "Might be helpful."

"Can't we just …" Justin said quietly.

"Sure," Hank cut him off. "Drop the attitude. Show some respect. Water off the back."

That's the way their family had to be. Water off the back. Water under the bridge. And move the fuck on. Justin just needed to decide he was ready to do that. Drop the subject. Pick a new one. And just try again. But sometimes his son was like a dog with a bone.

Ethan returned and had a big smile on his face. "There's sausage with apple and some with blueberries in it," he said. "So gross but awesome!"

"Mmm…" Hank acknowledged. He didn't think they'd be getting that. "How about I smoke some ribs for tonight?" he suggested instead.

"You mean so you can ignore us and stand by the grill all day?" Justin said with tone.

Hank cast him a warning look but Ethan hadn't noticed the distaste from his brother. He nodded eagerly and took the sauce bottle out of his hand to examine. "We can put this on it," he said.

"What happened to the burgers and 'wrust plan?" Justin asked.

"That's for tomorrow," Ethan said but didn't look at his brother when he said it.

Hank's phone buzzed in his pocket and he shoved his hand in there, giving it a questioning look as he pulled it out.

"Got to take this," he said and stepped away from his boys – moving to step back out the door.

"And there goes the long weekend …" Justin muttered behind him.

He glanced – giving him a warning look – but saw Ethan giving him a sad look too. Hank sighed and looked at the I.D. on the phone. He hoped that this wasn't about to make what his boys were implying true. He wasn't sure he could trust leaving the kids together alone given the current state of the family dynamics. And, he sort of needed the time with the kids too. They needed to get this sorted and needed to get back on as stable ground as they ever were.


	67. Trapped

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

"You look trapped," Erin said as she came out the door of the porch and held up a blanket and a pillow in Hank's general direction.

She wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting on the porch swing but however long it'd been, it'd been long enough for Ethan to pass out. The kid was slumped against him, his head lulling on Hank's chest while his dad's arm was wrapped loosely around him. Hank was staring more at the barbecue on the opposite side of the porch than he was paying any heed to Ethan being sprawled against him. It was slowly smoking away and even though Erin didn't have a clue how long he'd had it on the go – not likely more than an hour or so – it already smelled delicious. But most of the time Hank's cooking was worth coming home for.

She'd already had that discussion that morning with Jay. She'd needed to escape the tension in the house – especially after Hank took Ethan into his appointment and she was left there alone with Justin and Olive. Apparently Justin had felt the evening had been enough for them to be back on good terms and for him to grill her about every little thing about Ethan's health and wellness and the plan. She really didn't feel like playing along. Hank had wanted to talk to Justin about it. Hank had a plan of action that she wasn't entirely privy to. And, when you got right down to it, Ethan was Hank's kid. The final say on how they'd be dealing with any of it lay with him – whether they liked it or not.

She'd quickly gotten tired of being the monkey in the middle with Hank out of the house. Being asked to provide answers that weren't hers to provide. To pretend that they were all hunkdorey and could just move on – when she didn't really feel like it. Justin had been an ass – again. And, somehow she really didn't feel like putting up to it when she knew in less than four weeks he'd officially be a father. It didn't really feel like he was ready – not based on last night – no matter how much he'd thought he'd grown and learned between jail and the army. It seemed like he still had a fucking long ways to go. Or else he was going to be disappointing a lot of people – again. And, it'd again be Hank – and probably in some way her – taking on the bulk of that load if he did fuck it up. They had enough on their plates right now. He wasn't allowed to fuck up his new family and new baby. He had to figure that shit out.

So she'd left. She'd fed Justin some line about going to do groceries. She'd really gone into district. It's a sad state of affairs when going into work seems like a better option than a day off. But maybe a predictable one when it's a day off and you're an adult forced to be spending it with your adopted dysfunctional family. She thought she'd have the place to herself. She thought it was Ruzek and Alvin who were on-call for the weekend. Ruzek was likely hating that. Alvin wouldn't have cared. But it didn't mean they'd be in unless shit hit the fan. And if shit hit the fan, Hank would hear about it quick and they'd be in there despite technically not being scheduled. It was just how the job worked.

She didn't get the bullpen to herself, though. Jay was sitting there. He was supposedly catching up on paperwork. It looked a lot more to her like he was aimlessly surfing thing based on the number of tabs he had open on his screen that he'd tried to diminish before she saw and look busy in the proprietary CPD platform that wasn't remotely related to any paperwork he was supposedly behind on. It'd come down to the fact that Jay didn't have anything to do.

Well, he could be doing things. He could go out. He could work out. He could meet up with friends. Only he didn't really have friends. Bar friends. Not friends who'd he go and hang out with on the third or who'd invite him away for the Fourth. He could've gone and done his fishing thing. Or gone to a movie. Or just wandered. Or caught up on life. But he wasn't. He was pretty much sitting in the bullpen because his brother had decided he was spending the weekend with his father. Jay had been invited and had – as usual – decided not to go, because of whatever bad blood existed there. Then apparently he was punishing himself for that decision by sitting alone at work and doing a big load of nothing.

As she'd vented at him about the absurdity of her weekend thus far, he'd pretty much indicated that she didn't have to be there. She could just not go. She could leave. She could not go back. She didn't have to be there.

The thing was – she did. Hank didn't ask for them to come home often. There'd only been a small handful of times where he'd really laid down the law that he expected his family to be together. That she was expected to show up. That he'd be pissed if she didn't. He hadn't quite put it on those terms this time. But the message had been clear. He knew this would be the last time they'd all be together before the baby dynamic was in the mix. He knew he had to talk to Justin about Ethan. He wanted to have an established understanding between the whole family by the end of the weekend about what the next while was going to look like. He wanted her there for that.

She didn't get into that with Jay, though. She just said that when Hank cooked – it was worth going home. And there was truth to that. And, considering he'd gotten a small taste of it –he didn't argue the point. He'd actually ended up going grocery shopping with her when she did actually go and do that and he'd lamented how it was unfair he was helping her with it and he wasn't getting an invite. She wasn't quite sure he really wanted an invite after what his previous meal had looked like. But then again, it wasn't like their weekend could get much worse. Maybe throwing Jay into the mix for Justin to glare at would diffuse some of the tension between the rest of them. Of course, if Ethan showed any sort of interest in Jay as so much as a human being, though, that would likely set Justin off too.

Not that it looked like Ethan would do that in that moment. He looked pretty much out for the count. She knew that he'd had a rough night and rough morning. Hank had given her a brief call with more grocery item requests and the news about their pending company and had given her the debrief on Ethan's appointment. It sounded like it had been hell on the kid. She was kind of glad that Hank had been the one with him. She could lay down the smack down and stand up for Ethan with the best of them – but Hank knew how to put people in their place. And he knew how to do it in a way that it wouldn't happen again ever. If anything, they'd be kissing Ethan's ass and offering apologies for the rest of the month. He might not notice, though. Not if this was what the rest of the month was going to look like because whatever, they'd given him seemed to have pretty much knocked him out. Likely some high petulancy version of Benadryl.

She thought Hank's whole stance just showed how concerned he was with the situation. He was trying to be quiet and calm about it. Keep it hidden. But Erin had seen the revolution of it. From him being so pissed off and stand-offish and firm with Ethan when he'd first arrived home from the expulsion. To now. Him letting the kid sleep in the middle of the day, leaning against him. And it only showed how shitty Ethan really was feeling because he was clearly actively seeking some support and affection from his dad. It only proved how scared he likely was. He was finding his own quiet ways to reach out.

Erin put the pillow on the opposite side of the bench that the two guys weren't occupying and gave Hank a look. He removed his arm from around Ethan and saw she reached and adjusted the kid slightly, laying him flat on the bench, Hank stood. Ethan's eyes fluttered open and he looked at her under heavy lids but offered no comment. He managed to curl up himself into the swing. It wasn't the most comfortable to lay on. It was really just a two-seater. But she'd laid in it herself before. It was doable – and Ethan was pretty short. After he seemed to have settled, she unfolded the blanket and put it over top of him, as Hank wandered over to the barbecue and took a look at his smoking ribs. It was definitely a man's meal. Him and Justin and possibly Ethan would dive in. She'd pick at it. She wasn't sure how Olive would feel about it. What did eight-month pregnant women eat?

"The nurse the other day had mentioned that the one drug makes his skin more sensitive to the sun," Erin had said as she went and sat at the table while Hank did his thing at the grill. Fiddled with the smoker or the heat level or whatever he was doing. "We should be careful about how much direct sunlight he gets."

Hank just made a sound of acknowledgement so she went back to looking at Ethan. She felt bad for him. He definitely wasn't getting the weekend he wanted so far. Not the summer he wanted either. Hopefully things would calm down and improve a bit over the next while. Those summers when you were 11 … 12 … 13 … maybe even 14 … they were supposed to be pretty awesome. Grown up enough to have a bit more freedom. Still young enough you don't have a ton of responsibility or a real summer job. He was losing out. Sometimes it seemed like Ethan lost out on a lot of his childhood and it made her kind of sad. She knew what that was like. His loss was for different reasons. But that didn't make it any easier. In some ways she thought his loses in his childhood were harder than hers. But they were hard things compare. They weren't really the kind of things you should ever bother trying to compare. At least he had Hank. For all his flaws and faults and mistakes – Hank tried hard. He was a good dad beneath his tough exterior. He could get that square peg to fit into the round hole. He'd do that for Ethan over the summer. Get things sorted out to some sort of normalcy by the time school started. Maybe things would be easier than.

Hank came and sat down at the patio table with her. She gave him a glance.

"You should let me take him to my place tonight," she said. "Get a full night's sleep in the A/C."

Hank gave a small nod. "Maybe," he allowed.

She let out a small sigh and slumped a bit in her chair. "Then you should let me take Justin and Olive over and put him in your room with the window unit."

"He can't handle the noise," Hank provided flatly.

She eyed him but didn't argue it. He knew he was a decent proposition. He'd likely agree to it if she didn't brow beat him about it. Hank needed to make decisions in his own way in his own time. She could appreciate that. She was the same way.

"Where are Justin and Olive?" Erin asked.

Hank shrugged. "Went out."

"Out where?" Erin put back to him a little sharply.

"Didn't ask," Hank said. It was likely an indication that Justin had been at him when he got home with Ethan too. He wasn't acting like Justin had completely pissed him off or done something to cause him to start to loose his mind – but his indifference spoke volumes too. Him letting Justin take an excursion on the family weekend likely meant they both needed some time away from each other to regroup and try again.

"Olive was telling me that swimming is really good for M.S. patients," Erin put forward. "Maybe if we're able to get him back into the day camp routine those trips and lessons will help him."

Hank gave a little nod.

"She seemed fairly knowledgeable," Erin said. "Maybe talk to her a bit before the weekend is over."

"You pick her brains," he said flatly.

Erin sighed at that. She didn't feel that comfortable talking to Olive. She was a nice enough girl but she wasn't sure how she felt about her as being a match for Justin or for being the mother of her brother's son and Hank's grandson and her nephew – if Justin decided she was allowed to think of him that way. She just had some of her own baggage that Erin wasn't entirely sure how much she'd outgrown it yet either. She wasn't sure how great of pair her and Justin actually made. It really didn't seem like a match made in Heaven. She wasn't even really sure was a convenience-do-the-right-thing-shot-gun marriage it seemed too stable. Not in the long run. Maybe they'd try it out for a year or two? But long-term? She wasn't sure she could see that. And she wasn't sure she wanted to think about what either of them looked like when the anchor was gone. But maybe with Justin's service commitment they wouldn't have to see that much of each other anyways. Maybe it'd be years before they really realized how much they didn't actually work.

Or maybe they'd surprise her.

Surprise them all.

"So Jay was thinking about maybe stopping by to get his Xbox before you throw it in the trash," Erin put out there.

Hank looked at her and just smacked his lips. No comment. But sometimes his lack of commentary said more than anything that came out of his mouth.

"What time's the company coming over?" she asked instead.

He shrugged. "Soon," he said.

She gave him a look. "You sure this is a good idea?"

"What was I supposed to say?" he asked.

"I've seen you be rude to people before," Erin said. "More than once."

He just smacked at her again and made no comment.

There was the sound of car doors slamming at the front of the house and Erin gave him a look. The window of opportunity to quash this plan may have passed.

"Likely Justin and Olive back," Hank provided flatly.

But Erin kept listening. She didn't think it was them. And she wasn't sure their weekend was going to get much better – even if it was sort of going to get more interesting.


	68. Self-Medicating

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Erin put her hand on Ethan's head and tried to smooth down some of his sleep-messed hair. He was still acting dopey – she was sure if it was because of his nap being cut short or if it was from whatever they'd pumped into him that morning to deal with the allergic reaction. But she supposed he didn't seem to be at his finest after any of the IVs. It was going to be good when they were over. Though, they had yet to see how he faired with the injections they gave him. She was really hoping they decided on weekly ones – or at least not daily.

"Why do we have to have company?" Ethan muttered at her as they trudged through the house behind Hank.

She just gave him a thin smile. "Because your dad can be too nice sometimes," she told him.

It was true. For all Hank's gruffness. For as much of an asshole he could be. For as much as you didn't want to ever get on his bad side. If you were on his good side, he'd pretty much bend over backwards for you. Make sure you were done right by. That you were protected. That life was as easy as life could ever be. Though, she didn't think Hank knew many people who had that easy of lives. She thought he preferred it that way, though. People with easy lives didn't interest him. They didn't fit into his reality. They didn't really fit into hers either.

But when they got to the front steps, it seemed they were saved from company – at least for the moment. It was just Justin and Olive who'd returned. The trunk and the backseat doors was the extra noise she'd heard.

Justin glanced up from what he was doing in the trunk as he talked at Hank. Apparently they were on slightly better speaking terms at that point.

"E," Justin called and waved him over. Hank glanced over his shoulder and gave them both a look. His hands were shoved into his pockets. He seemed fairly relaxed and casual. It was usually best not to mess with that. But Ethan stayed put next to her on the steps. So Hank made a small gesture with his head, clearly indicating that the kid should go over and Erin gave him a little nudge too.

Ethan let out a little noise like he wasn't really ready to play nice with Justin yet. But their family didn't really get choices like that. They constantly butt heads. They always had. At least since Justin was a teenager. They just needed to get over things. If Hank was ready to be over last night – then her and Ethan needed to be too. Because, fuck, they needed to be a family now – with the baby on the way, with all this shit with Eth. Needed to get over their selves and make it work.

Finally, Ethan went down the steps and walked over to his brother and dad. Olive had joined them at the back of the car in whatever they were discussing. Erin was hanging back. As much as she knew they all needed to play nice, she just didn't 100 per cent feel like it. She would. But not quite yet.

Ethan's face, though, changed as he got over there and gazed into the trunk.

"Awww, yeah, Fuckin' A!" Ethan exclaimed and near dove toward the back of the car – though not before Hank's hand came out and swatted the back of his head. It wasn't hard. Erin knew he wouldn't hit Ethan hard but there was enough of a butt to it that she heard the small impact and lil bro gave his dad a hurt look.

"Watch your mouth," Hank spat.

Sometimes it was really fucking ridiculous the kind of shit that Hank gave Ethan about language considering all the shit he heard out of the lot of them. That likely would've been something he wouldn't have been as exposed to if Camille had been around. As it was, Ethan could be a bit of a potty mouth. But so could the rest of them. At times.

Ethan gave his dad an unimpressed look. He was likely thinking about the same thing. 'You say it!' Erin could almost hear his interior monologue. But he kept it to himself and leaned more into the trunk.

"It's Olive's cousin's," she heard Justin say and he reached around the kid to pull a BMX bike, complete with all the pegs and sprockets to make it ready for tricks that Ethan definitely couldn't do but would likely kill himself trying. It was a metallic blue with yellow finishing, though it clearly had seen its wear and tear. Lots of it.

Ethan was already grabbing the handle bars out of his brother's hands and attempting to get in the handle before he'd hardly set it on the curb for him.

"Hey," Justin said and grabbed the back of the seat. "We're going to have to take it around back and pump up the tires and switch the chain out for you. Can't ride it yet."

Ethan gave him a glance but sort of listened. Instead he just rocked back and forth in place on it. It was definitely a better fit than the kiddie mountain bike that had been sitting in Hank's back garage for the past two years – and then some. Baby bro looked like a giant on it. Hank had likely bought it for the kid when he was about six. Even though Ethan was short – it was still not match for his twelve-year-old body. It actually looked like they might even need to raise the seat a bit on the newly acquired used bike – unless you were supposed to sit that low on trick bikes. She didn't know.

"Most of my family has gone, through it," Olive told him. "Thought you could get a few years use out of it and then we could claim it for Henry."

"It's awesome," Ethan mumbled. He was gazing more at the front wheel and the forks and pegs there than he appeared to be listening to her.

"Try thank you," Hank put to him firmly.

Ethan glanced at his dad but then looked at Justin. "Thanks," he said.

"To Olive," Hank put even more firmly.

"Thank you," Ethan said again but the sincerity was somehow lost in the fact that he'd been told by his dad.

Erin hoped that Olive still knew it was there. Ethan had really wanted a bike for the summer. She wasn't sure how he was going to do with riding it between the inflammation and the vision and some of his fumbling balance – but he'd try. Though, Hank would likely be eagle-eyed on his first attempts. Or he'd restrict his use until after the steroid treatment was done and they had an idea how some of that stuff was doing. Ethan would likely loose his mind, though, if he wasn't allowed to get it out on the street and start pedaling after the neighborhood kids. Erin really hoped Hank got that. That he saw the importance of integrating him into their community and neighborhood quickly. Getting him some friends and shit to get into. Making him normal and one of them.

"And …" Justin said and went to the open side door, pulling out a plastic bag and struggling with what was inside to hold it out at Ethan.

"AWESOME!" Ethan exclaimed and reached out to snag it from his brother and examined the box intently. "It's the zombie attack one!"

Justin was clearly really kissing ass. Erin didn't really think buying Ethan's love was the best way to do that. But it was also kind of a typical Justin move. He wasn't around enough to be a true big brother – so instead he was the cool big brother. He bought Ethan crap. He did fun – and obnoxious – things with him. He roughhoused and told disgusting jokes. Basically he got to do shit with Ethan that Erin would never get away with. Because she was an adult and the 'big sister'. And she was more under Hank's thumb. Anything she did that he didn't like and didn't approve of she had to her about ad nauseam. But at least it meant she got to tell Hank exactly when she thought he was being an ass too. Not that he really cared to hear her thoughts on that matter – especially when it came to parenting. But she did think she heeded her a bit more attention in those areas than he ever did – and possibly ever would – Justin. Though, that might shift when Justin suddenly was a "parent" and she wasn't. Then she might start hearing bullshit from the both of them about how she didn't understand and wouldn't get it until she had kids. And that would just make her want to knock the lights out of both of them. Take their two heads and bash them together until they saw some fucking stars.

Justin pulled out another box – clearly full of little cheapie water guns and a bag of water balloons. "Kids in the 'hood still do the water fight tomorrow?" he asked.

Hank just made a sound and shrugged as he looked at the offerings. Clearly not the reaction that Justin wanted so he reached into the car again and pulled out a case of beer and offered it to his dad instead. Hank looked at it with slightly more interest than the water guns. He gave Justin a little nod of acknowledgement.

"I'm going to take this 'round back to pump the tires," Ethan declared and attempted to run it up the curb. The tires really didn't have enough air in them even to accomplish that.

Hank put a stop to it. "Don't do that," he said and nudged the kid off the bike, handing the offerings back to Justin. "You bust the tire and you'll be waiting until next week for us to get it fixed up."

Ethan made a small humph noise but got off the bike and tried to push it up over the curb instead. It still didn't want to make the jump so he tried to pick it up, but Hank again stepped it and hoisted it up instead, starting to carry it up the steps and through the house. Erin gave him a look as he passed through the door she held open for them. He returned it. He clearly saw what Justin was doing – or trying to do too – purchased peace offerings. They'd both rather something of a bit more substance but maybe it was a start. Olive trailed after Hank and Ethan while Justin closed up the car and came up the steps too. He glanced in the house to see that the three were out of site and then gave her a look and shoved a hand into his pocket and then held out what must be about two ounces of marijuana at her.

She squinted at him and didn't reach for it and he shoved it more toward her.

"Take it," he said firmly. "Before dad sees it."

She crossed her arms. "I'm not holding for you, Justin," she said.

He gave her an unimpressed look. "It's for Ethan," he said. "It's medical grade."

She just glared at him.

"Pops said he's in a lot of pain. Nausea," Justin pressed. "M.S. is on the medical marijuana list. You've got to talk to him about getting Eth registered."

"Justin," she hissed. "There is no way your dad is going to agree to let his twelve-year-old be on pot – whether it's for medical reasons or not."

"Eth is already smokin' up," Justin said. "You said Pop confiscated a bunch off him. Magoo likely knew something was up. He's been self-medicating, Erin."

She looked at him more firmly. "Your dad is not going to let this be in the house," she said.

"So keep it on you," he said. "You get it into him. E will listen to you if you tell him to keep his mouth shut about it."

"I'm not giving out baby brother drugs, Justin," she spat at him. "Even if it's just weed. He's twelve."

"It's not weed," Justin argued. "It's medicine. It's just until dad gets him registered and gets it legit for him."

Erin sighed, shaking her head and gazing down the street.

"What? Would you rather him strung out on all these fucking pain killers and whatever the fuck they're pumping into him? He looks like a fucking zombie."

"He's just …" she sighed and looked back to Justin, shrugging dejectedly. "He's tired. It's been a long week or so."

"He's not tired. Olive was telling me about the kind of shit they give them during a flare up. I did some quick reading. You're telling me Pop would rather them pumping that crap into our brother than seeing if him smoking some weed helps at all?"

Erin held the baggie back out to him. "Hank is not going to agree to this," she said again and pressed it into his chest when he didn't take it. He took a step back.

"He'll listen to you," he said. "Talk to him. Or try it and see if it helps him. Maybe it was. Maybe that's why he was doing it in the first place. He was playing ball at school, wasn't he? Now he's fucking stumbling around like some drunk."

"He's in the midst of a flare up right now," Erin said. "It's improving. They said to give it ten days to start to see a turnaround."

Justin made an annoyed noise and it was his turn to look down the street. He looked pissed off.

"Where'd you even get this?" Erin said. "You know you could get in a world of shit too if you got picked up with this on you? Your record. Your service commitment."

"Olive got it," he said flatly.

Erin made an even more disgusted noise. "And who the fuck sells pot to an eight-month pregnant woman?"

"It's legit," Justin said. "She's got some connections from when she was taking the PT classes here. Look, people need to go through back channels on the time. We made some calls. This guy only deals with people with legit medical problems. Helps them out while they jump through the hoops to get assessed and registered."

"Real medical issues?" Erin said. "And he just took your word on that."

"He knows Olive, OK?" Justin hissed at her.

Erin couldn't decide how she felt about it. Part of her could see Justin's point. Ethan seemed like he was struggling with the treatment right now – and if this could help, make things a bit easier for him – than what was the harm? At least to try. But giving a kid weed would be a big deal to Hank. He'd know it was only weed – but he'd have an issue with his kid doing any kind of illegal substance. It wouldn't matter that Ethan was technically qualified to register to get medical marijuana. Erin wasn't sure that would be something Hank would agree to try or be interested in exploring. It'd have to be a recommendation that came from a doctor – not Olive and Justin. And even then he'd likely put some real thought into it. Ethan was kind of fried enough as it was. Was turning him into an approved pothead a good idea? But if it meant he wasn't in pain all the time. If he could have a bit more normal childhood. Maybe it'd be worth it.

It wasn't really Erin's choice, though. And, she didn't like the suggestion that she start administering this to Ethan behind Hank's back. That she suggested to her baby brother that it was OK by her – even if it wasn't by his Dad. That was ripe to blow up in her face. Even though part of her wouldn't mind trying. Part of her didn't think it was a big deal. It was just pot. But Hank finding out that she had any kind of drugs kicking around right now would go over badly enough. Him finding out she was giving them to Ethan? That might be a doghouse she wouldn't get out of any time soon.

And she had to see Hank and work with Hank and be part of their home life on a daily basis. Justin didn't. He could think this was a good idea – because he wouldn't have to directly deal with the fallout. She would.

Her eyes drifted down the street again while she mulled it over and just as they did a pick-up came slowly up the street. It passed the house – real slow. In a way that was just asking to draw attention. She watched it carefully but she already suspected who it was, though she hadn't expected a pick-up. Not very New York City from her experience. The truck was about halfway passed Hank's house before it stopped and backed up, parking just down the street from the Escalade and Justin's car.

She sighed and shoved the weed into her pocket. She didn't have any more time to argue with Justin. Not right then. And she wasn't going to be caught arguing with her brother on the front steps in front of these people.

She rolled her eyes at Justin. But he was already glaring at the truck and the people getting out of it. He clearly was about as impressed that Hank had approved this as her and Ethan were. Only his glare was way more unwelcoming than anything she could accomplish. He had clearly inherited that from his dad.

She pulled open the door and yelled through the house – even though she knew Hank hated that. Fuck it, though. He was the one that invited them over.

"Hank! They're here!"


	69. Lucky Man

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

 *****AUTHOR'S NOTE: The Olivia Benson depicted in this chapter is representative of the Olivia Benson my stories Hello, Goodbye and Welcome Home. If you haven't read them some of it might not make sense. *****

 *****MAJOR SPOILER WARNING: If you are following Welcome Home, this chapter provides some spoilers for the conclusion of that story. If you don't want them — you might not want to read this. And if you haven't read either story and don't want major details spoiled — you almost definitely want to skip this chapter. *****

Hank finished at the grill and turned back around to find the man on the opposite side of the porch of him gazing up at his floodlights in a concentrated examination. He'd clearly caught on to the fact it was a security system – likely that the one light was actually a camera monitoring the coming and going at his home. But he seemed to realize that he was being looked back and shifted his eyes back to him, taking a slow tug on the beer bottle in his hand and making no comment about the lights.

Voight wasn't entirely sure what to make of this guy. He was doing his own careful assessment. The guy didn't seem that put together. Clothes didn't look quite his age. Like he was trying to be a little too trendy for someone who must be in his late-40s. And he was wearing all black, which just seemed stupid in that heat. He looked tired but he mostly looked a little grizzled. Clearly hadn't shaved for a few days and there was the hint of a scar – likely from a knife down his one cheek. There was an even more prominent scar running down his one arm – the one where he appeared to be missing half his thumb. And, the guy seemed about as anti-social as him.

Brian Cassidy – as he'd be introduced as – had accepted the beer and stayed up on the porch with him while he babysat the grill. But thus far his eyes had almost predominantly been set in the small yard. He was watching Benson and the two kids they'd toted in with them play. Erin and Olive were over there. Gooing and gahing at the little one. Olive more so than Erin. Erin was helping out Ethan with filling up some of the water balloons and sporadically spraying water from the hose at Benson's little boy, who seemed pretty taken with the garden hose. Like he'd never seen one before. Hank was about ready to call at Erin to grab the sprinkler out of the garage and set it up for the kids. The little ones would likely like that. With how Ethan seemed to be coping with the heat he was likely to screw around in the spray too. Though, he'd been doing a good job at getting himself – and his sister and his brother – soaked in the process of filling up the balloons.

Voight was pretty sure Benson had said her kids were adopted. But he might've misunderstood. Maybe she meant the oldest one, who was nowhere in sight. Because these two you'd hard pressed to tell they were adopted. The boy definitely had tinges of the man standing on the deck with him while the little girl off over with the women was a pretty spitting image of Benson. Not that that meant much of anything. Could just be luck or the universe playing tricks on you. He and Camille got told enough when Erin was still a teen that she looked like theirs. She looked enough like them for people to assume. Assumptions didn't count for much. And it didn't much matter. Family is family. Adopted, legal guardian, biological. They're all just your kids.

"You got a nice step up here," the guy said to him between taking tugs on his bottle. "House, yard," he said, gesturing back out to their patch of grass and looking at the group out there again.

"Mmm," Voight just grunted in acknowledgement.

"Been here long?" the guy asked.

"'Bout twenty-five years," Voight provided.

Cassidy gave a slow nod in consideration of that and took another sip at his beer. "We've been looking at places," he provided. "Hard to get something like this in New York. Looked at some triplexes in Brooklyn. Split levels. Her deal with Brooklyn, though, is live there, she wants a garden for the kids. A yard," he said again and gestured to where they were. "But this puts anything we'd get there to shame."

Voight made a noise. Their yard wasn't much of a yard. Especially with the deck. Pretty much a patch of grass. Still had been good to have with kids, though. Somewhere safe and supervised to boot them out to when they were little. Somewhere to kick them out to so he didn't have to listen to them with their friends in the front room when they hit their teens. Still –he wasn't sure he'd call it a yard. Not like they had out in the burbs anyways.

"Postage stamp," Hank allowed.

The guy made a noise that acknowledged that. "Yea," he grunted. "You don't want to know how much a postage stamp costs either." He looked back to the yard and the people in it again. "Likely end up in Hell's Kitchen. Some new development she's got her heart set on," he mumbled.

"Mmm," Hank allowed – like that meant anything to him, or he cared. But that tended to be how things went – you got the wife what she wanted. Happy wife, happy life. It was just what you were supposed to do.

It sort of answered some questions anyways. Not that Voight much cared about Benson's personal life. He didn't have to work with the detectives in New York to have any sort of invested interest in her well being. But the guy's presence took him slightly off-guard. She'd indicated the other day that she had help but "not the way he was suggesting". Whatever that meant. It seemed to have meant that they just weren't married. Or he assumed they weren't. Neither of them had wedding bands on their fingers. They didn't act particularly couple-y – but Hank could appreciate that. He didn't appreciate overt public displays of affection.

The little boy came trotting over and tromped up the steps, leaning into the man's waist. "Bri-in," he whined, "I'm bored."

"Boring people get bored," the guy said to him dismissively.

"When will Peedg get here?" the kid asked.

"Jack's not coming," he said.

"Why?" the kid whined again.

"'Cuz he's workin'," the man put flatly.

"Why?"

"'Cuz," Cassidy put back him. "That's what he's here to do."

The kid maybe an exasperated sound and flopped his forehead against the guy's stomach.

"Daddy! I'm bored!" he whined again.

Cassidy made a sound and pushed the kid gently away from him and waved the bottle at him. "Big Man," he said, "What's this?"

The kid stared at it. "Beer?"

"Yea," Cassidy agreed. "What's the rule 'bout when I'm drinking beer?"

"Don't bug you?"

"Let me drink my beer in peace," the guy put to the kid.

The boy made another noise. "How much you have left?"

Cassidy tilted the bottle for him to see the liquid slosh inside. "That much."

"Can you drink faster?" the kid asked, giving him these big questioning eyes that made Voight smile just slightly.

"I'm drinking it as fast as I can," the man muttered. "And, I'm talking to Sergeant Voight here. So don't be rude. Go play with your sis and Ma."

The kid seemed to flop more against the man at that point – almost protectively and gazed across the porch at Voight. "My Mommy's a sarge-ant too," he said.

"Mmm …" Voight acknowledged the kid's comment.

"She out ranks Daddy," he said so matter-of-factly.

"Yea, in every way," the man muttered and took another drink. The comment earned another repressed sound of amusement from Voight.

"You real police?" the kid asked.

Voight gave him a little shrug. "Yeah, I'm real police."

"He wants to know if you're stuck in uniform on the job," Cassidy put flatly.

"Hmm," Voight allow. "Nah, most days I'm not in the monkey suit."

The kid examined him and did this pucker like he was pretty unimpressed with the answer. Apparently it was the wrong one.

"How many bad guys you catch?" the kid asked.

Voight shrugged at him. "Enough," he provided.

Sometimes he forgot what it was like to have kids that age. There was something special about it – that was for sure. Things are different when they're little like that. Strange, though. As he took in the kid he realized the boy would be about the age Magoo was when things all went to shit. It was hard to remember how little his boy was when it'd all gone down. Still just a baby. Silly questions. Strange assumptions. No filter. And they still fucking looked at you like you were the center of their universe. Because you were.

"Mommy and Bri-in catch 'bout two hun-red town-send," the boy provided.

"Give or take two hundred thousand," Cassidy provided drily.

Voight gave him a thin smile at that. He remembered when his kids wanted to know how many 'bad guys' he caught too. They wanted to know about his job. They loved the fact he was a police officer. They went through the period where they thought they were going to be one too. Had the toys and the outfits. Took them out to the events with the other CPD families back when Camille was around and they were a bit more social about those kinds of things. But the only one that had followed through with the interest was Erin. He was proud of her accomplishments, though. Her interest and career choice hadn't grown out of little boy daydreams and fascination, though. It was more genuine. More meaningful. That likely made him prouder. Turned her life around.

The guy nudged the little boy again. "Go back and play," he said a bit more firmly. "'Cuz if you aren't playing, you're sure acting like you're tired."

The little boy gave him a glare. There was clearly an underlying message in the statement the man had given him. Voight suspected it was likely that if the kid didn't go and play, he'd get segregated for a nap. That likely wouldn't be a bad thing if Benson's two kids wanted to lie down for a sleep because he was watching his boy and even though he was goofing around with Erin and back and forth to help his brother out with tinkering on the bike, he could see that he was fading. If Benson hadn't called, he might've considered subjecting himself to another movie just to give the kid a quiet activity and some A/C for the afternoon. As it was he was likely going to follow up Erin's stance – get the kid over to her place, into some A/C and try to get him a full night's sleep. He'd need it to get through his treatment, the barbecue and the fireworks tomorrow. And any other bullshit the kids got up to. This fucking water fight they seemed convinced was going to happen. He didn't want to burst their bubbles about that being something from Justin and Erin's childhood. New folks on their block hadn't really kept the tradition going with the kids. Some of them were likely a little too uptight for that.

But apparently the little boy wasn't ready for a nap and reluctantly peeled himself away from Cassidy and went back down the steps and across the yard. Though, he cast a couple accusing looks the man's way as he did.

Cassidy seemed undeterred by it. Kids just did that kind of thing. He just scrubbed at his face tiredly.

"Thanks again for letting us crash your long weekend," Cassidy put to him.

Voight shrugged. "Not a problem," he said. "We're just hanging around the house anyway."

Voight actually thought with the status of things in the family having some company might be good for them. Some distraction. Or at least something to keep everyone on their best behavior. His kids weren't likely to show their worst sides in front of people they didn't know. They were likely to keep their claws in and attitudes in check when talking to each other too. Keep them from ripping each other's throats out for a few hours. Besides, it was giving Olive some time to baby a baby. She seemed to be eating it up. Made Hank look forward to seeing how her and Justin did with his grandson too.

Cassidy gave a little nod. "Still," he said and gestured. "Kids really were fading in the heat and the crowds. Needed to get them out of the thick of it for a bit."

Voight made a small gesture of acknowledgement with his head. "Get a hotel figured out yet?"

Cassidy made a sound that sounded frustrated. "Think so. It's pretty far outta the city. You guys got a concert or something here this weekend too?"

Voight nodded. "Grateful Dead reunion."

Cassidy shook his head and took another drink of his beer. "Fuck," he muttered. "Yea, Jack had told me that he had people telling him that everyone bails out of here for the long weekend. But it was fucking Crazy Town trying to hit any of the sites with the kids after going to look at his skate thing. Opening day. Fuckin' pandemonium there. Having to tell Big Man he can't skate." The guy shook this head and tilted his head back to finish his bottle.

"Mmm," Voight acknowledged and went to the cooler, flipping it open to grab another beer. He offered one to Cassidy but he shook his head. Likely going to go and entertain the kid or try to get him to spool down a bit. "Didn't have a reservation?"

"Nah," Cassidy said rather dejectedly. "My own fucking fault. This was pretty spur of the moment. I'd been U.C. for a bit. Get shit wrapped yesterday. Liv tells me she's out here. I get the genius idea of go home, toss the kids in the truck and come out here so we all get the weekend together. Surprise her.

"Sorta back fired. Kids didn't sleep well on the drive out last night. She was more than a little surprised to see us when we crashed her hotel room this morning. And not in a good way. Getting her flight canceled was a fucking headache. Can't extend the stay in her room because of them being booked with this concert and the holiday. Sowhile she's wrangling the kids I'm on the phone calling every fucking hotel in Chicago. And then Jack's working today and has plans tomorrow that seem way more fucking interesting than over spending time with us. So pretty much – I'm in the doghouse.

"Right now, too tired to fucking care. Staying in the city to take Jack and the girlfriend out for dinner. Give Big Man some time with him. Then I don't care how roach infested the motel is – I'm fucking crashing out the moment I see the bed. Three weeks U.C., a twelve-hour drive all night and then playing tourist today. Not my brightest idea."

Hank looked at him. Guy was clearly feeling like he was in the shit house more than the doghouse. He wasn't getting that vibe from Benson. She seemed friendly enough. But he also didn't know her well enough to pick up on little cues that this guy clearly knew a bit about how to read. He could see why Benson would be aggravated but he could see where Cassidy was coming from. Sometimes you just wanted to be with your family. Especially after you were away from them for a while. Sometimes it made you do ridiculous things. Like packing two little kids in a car and driving halfway across the country without giving the other parties any notice.

"Least you're all together," Voight said.

He knew how fleeting that could be. And how much you missed it. How much it could eat at you when you realized that some of that togetherness was gone. That you lost a piece of your family. That other pieces slipped away. That kids grew up. That life changed and got busy and transformed.

You never knew what could happen. Things could fucking change in a blink of an eye. Your whole life – your whole world – could be shaken. All too quickly.

Again and again.

Voight that if he'd known then what he knew now – he'd likely have done stupid shit mean to be surprises aimed at getting more time together. That sounded like a pretty decent idea to him. You never know how much time you get.

"Lucky man," he muttered, looking back out into the yard. His eyes landed briefly on the Benson bode but they quickly drifted to his own. Justin. Erin. Ethan. Olive. Not perfect. Pretty fucked up. But he was lucky enough in his own way. He was lucky he got to be there to see it. He'd take that.


	70. Broken Rules

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

 *****AUTHOR'S NOTE: The Olivia Benson depicted in this chapter is representative of the Olivia Benson my stories Hello, Goodbye and Welcome Home. If you haven't read them some of it might not make sense. *****

 *****MAJOR SPOILER WARNING: If you are following Welcome Home, this chapter provides some spoilers for the conclusion of that story. If you don't want them — you might not want to read this. And if you haven't read either story and don't want major details spoiled — you almost definitely want to skip this chapter. *****

"Bri," Olivia said as she carried her daughter up the steps of the porch and held her out at Brian, who readily took her, making a silly face at her that made her giggle. "Can you change her?"

Cass just looked at the little girl. "Did you crap your pants again?" he teased.

Olivia rolled her eyes at him and cast Voight a look. She'd definitely seen the scrutiny they were under – but she understood. She'd be doing the same thing. Ending up in someone's home – around their family – revealed a lot about them. And she was definitely getting a greater glimpse of Voight. She'd forgotten that it'd been mentioned that his son and daughter-in-law would be home for the holiday. She'd thought if she caught him and he agreed to them stopping by that it'd likely just be him and Ethan around. But he seemingly had his whole family there since he'd revealed he was a widower. Ethan and Erin and Justin and Olive – as the lot had been introduced rather hastily. Looking at the group of them was striking enough – watching how they interacted with each other, how they interacted with their father and he them, and how they were interacting with her party.

But even beyond the people it was Hank's house and property that struck her. His house was near immaculate and you couldn't tell it didn't have a woman's touch in it anymore. It left her wondering if it was less of a home and more of a museum at that point. She didn't know how you could keep house that clean. Not with kids. Not with the job. Though, she supposed the job might mean he wasn't there that much. And, two of his children were adults and no longer at home to leave a mess behind them. But she suspected a twelve-year-old boy should be leaving a wake in his midst. There was no evidence of that, though. Everything clearly had a spot. Everything was near sparkling clean. Even when they'd been escorted into the backyard, everything was very clearly just-so outside. She thought that said a lot about Voight. And explained a lot about him and how he worked too.

So she'd been doing her own scrutinized assessment. He could do his too. And, really, she appreciated that he'd agreed to let them stop by for a couple hours. The kids were cranky between being forced to sleep in the truck, the crowds out-and-about, the heat, and the general excitement of Daddy being home and them meeting Mommy and seeing Jack on a "vacation". Add in the fact that it was just about Emmy's nap time as it was and that Brian pretty much looked like he was going to keel over any second. They all needed some downtime. A rest.

Brian was clearly spent. Normally he'd take a couple days to decompress after being undercover. She didn't think maybe he'd realized how much he needed that quiet time doing mundane things at home when he'd hatched his little plan here. It was a nice idea. Just definitely wasn't fitting the fantasy of what a spur of the moment family vacation could be. Vacations with a six-year-old and not-yet-two-year-old weren't exactly smooth sailing even with planning – let alone no planning.

This wasn't the ideal situation. It'd been clear that Hank's house wasn't air conditioned as they walked through it into the back. Not exactly comfortable surroundings to try to put Emmy or Benji down for a nap. But at least it was shaded. And, it wasn't like either of them were interested in settling down for her after they got there.

New people. New things to explore. A yard. A hose. A sprinkler. "Big kids".

The "big kids" were interesting. Hank's older son, Justin, clearly wasn't too interested in them. He wasn't being outright rude but he really hadn't offered any interaction. He was off in a corner fiddling around with a BMX bike and various tools. He likely would've preferred they weren't there. They were probably robbing time away from him seeing his family and visiting his dad. She was used to the stance, though. His behavior and attitude and how he was interacting with a larger group – of unexpected or unwanted company – reminded her quite a lot of Jack. She knew it was best just to let him do his thing. Not press themselves on him or force small talk. He was happy to interact with his little brother and to toss some commentary at Erin. He had no interest in her kids and her kids didn't have much interest in him.

She did find herself looking at him, though. Because he was about a year older than Jack. Because the girlfriend or finance or baby mama was over talking to her and Emmy. Because one of her worst nightmares would be if Jack and Christina slipped up and got pregnant. She wasn't ready for that yet. She didn't think they were either. They both still had school to finish and jobs to nail down. They didn't need to be starting a family yet and she didn't want them to get into their head that they did. She didn't even know how they'd lasted this long. Part of it surprised her. But it didn't. Jack seemed like the type who would stay with his first love. He needed that stability. And, she really didn't have any kind of experience to compare it to or give him any commentary or advice. She just had to trust that they were adults and both doing what was right for them. Though, what she didn't think would be right for them was if they started a family before they were at least in their late-20s.

It was strange looking at Justin and Olive and knowing they weren't that much older than her son and yet they were about to give Hank a grandchild. They were about to start a life as a family. To be parents. It wasn't like they were teenagers. It wasn't a disaster or babies having babies. But they still did seem young. Both of them. But they also seemed more mature in some ways. They had some grit to them. Jack did too. But their grit – especially Justin's – was coming off differently. She hadn't put her finger on what it might be yet. It might just be the city and being raised by Hank but it felt like something more. She wasn't likely to learn what it was in that visit, though.

Erin had been the good one of the group. She was moving between her and Ethan and Justin and over to the deck to check on Hank. She was clearly used to being the mediator and messenger of some sort. But it was interesting to watch her too with all the different age groups and personalities. It said a lot about why she worked as police too. She was fluid. But Olivia knew that fluidity could become exhausting if you tried to keep it up too long.

At least she thought that they'd be removing some of the demanded fluidity that afternoon – soon. Her kids were just starting to get to the point that she thought they might spool down for a bit now. Let them rest for 45 minutes or so. Then say their thank yous again, pack the kids up, go find a park or a beach until dinner, meet Jack and Christina, eat and let them play with the kids a bit, and then drive out to this motel that Brian had managed to get lined up. Finally.

It'd been a fairly stressful day. She was tired too. She likely would've preferred Plan A, which had been to get on the plane around noon. Get back into the city. Go check things at work. Pick up the kids from daycare. Go home and do the usual routine and then spend the Fourth picnicking in the park with the kids and Alex and Sunday relaxing and catching up on life for a few days after being away. She hadn't expected Brian to reappear yet. She hadn't expected to have to play tourist. She'd pretty much expected it to be just like any other weekend in the summer. Take the kids outside to try to enjoy the weather and the sun. Laundry. Cleaning. Cooking some meals ahead for the week. The usual.

"Daddy! Bum," Emmy said and pointed at her rear.

Brian bounced her a bit. "Hey, you know you're supposed to tell us that before you fill your pants, right?"

"Bum," Emmy informed him again.

Olivia just reached over and smoothed down some of the little girl's hair, twisting it slightly to get some of the water to drip out of it. The kids had been loving that Hank's two had the hose out for what looked like a pretty epic water battle they were preparing for. Her two had ended up pretty soaked in the process. Even more soaked after the sprinkler was turned on. But gleeful. Apparently a garden hose and sprinkler ranked way higher than a splash pad, wading pool, or fire hydrant. Maybe not the fire hydrant. Though, Benji definitely was loving having access to his own personal hose. But she thought he needed to work on his aim before he registered for the fire academy. Though, she was also pretty sure everyone he'd sprayed had been purposeful. She was a little wet too. And now so was Brian with the damp little girl in his arms.

"Yea," Brian nodded. "Wasn't Ma supposed to finish potty-training you while I was away?"

Emmy just flopped against him at that, wrapping her arms around his neck. He'd been missed. She wasn't sure if it was Benji or Emmy who'd missed him more. But she did know she'd dealt with daily lines of questioning about where he was and when he'd be home. Questions she didn't have answers for.

"Oh, and rob you of getting to participate in that experience?" Olivia raised an eyebrow at him.

"Ah," Brian allowed. "So I get diaper duty too?"

She shrugged. "I didn't see where you put down the diaper bag."

Brian just pointed in the open door of the kitchen. She still didn't see it but she assumed it was likely there.

"I don't think she's wet. Just from the sprinkler. Just get her into some dry clothes. Lay down with her for a bit. See if you can get her to nap for a while."

"Mmm …" Brian allowed but he didn't sound impressed. He didn't like to be told what to do and he wasn't one to stop and rest. He'd rather run himself into the ground.

She just shrugged at him again, acutely aware that Voight was watching their interaction. "OK," she said. "Then put her down—"

"NO NAP!" Emmy interrupted but Olivia ignored that protest. Brian could take his turn dealing with that. He'd missed the joys of the Early Terrible Twos for three weeks. It was his turn to do battle of the wills with their very strong willed little girl.

"— and call Tucker. He's looking for you. Didn't share this little plan with him either?" she asked.

Brian made a sound that was barely an acknowledgement she'd spoken. But she knew his sounds. That was his "I'm ignoring you" sound and "Leave me alone." It was further reinforced by him making goofy faces at Emmy and her lighting up each time he did. Brian wasn't goofy. Not anymore. But with Benji and Emmy he let down the wall and did some goofy things. He got smiles out of them. He was vaguely silly. And he handed out sarcasm that they didn't understand but that made her laugh. She actually wondered a bit if he might have some of that in common with Voight. Did Hank know how to be goofy with his kids or did this wall always exist?

There seemed to be a sadness about him that overshadowed his seriousness. He wanted to think that he wasn't someone to mess with. But there was more to it then that. In having that up for all the perps he dealt with, she wondered how much of it his kids received too.

Olivia reached and pulled her phone out of her pocket. "Did you turn yours off?"

He grunted again and she rolled her eyes and waved hers at him. He grabbed her wrist to still it and looked at the screen, reading the text message she'd pulled up for him: "Where the fuck is your boyfriend?" Tucker had a way with words. Brian made an extremely unimpressed face.

"Mother Tucker," he muttered at Emmy, giving her another goofy face that made her smile and then going in to playfully gnaw on her shoulder. The little girl shrieked with giggles. "We don't want to talk to that Mother Tucker! Do we?"

"NO!" Emmy cheered.

"No," Brian agreed and cast Olivia a look.

Olivia just rolled her eyes. And Brian bounced Emmy a couple more times increasing her giggles – and likely decreasing the likelihood she'd settle for a nap. But he did then head in the door, leaving her on the porch with Voight. She saw the way he was eyeing her and she leaned against the rallying that Brian had vacated.

She allowed him a thin smile. "Looks more like he should be working your unit than NYPD doesn't he?"

Hank let out a slightly amused sound. "He's on the job," he stated. It definitely didn't sound like a question. So Olivia just shrugged. "What unit?"

Olivia rubbed at her eyebrow. Still whenever that came up in groups or with new people it was her responsibility to convey it. Brian still gave her that finger point and walked away. Always.

She let out a slow breath and found Voight's eyes. "Brian's IA," she allowed and saw that look set into his eyes. Anger. Upset. Lack of trust. Distaste. Judgment about what that meant about Brian and what it meant about her. And a revocation of the invitation of them even being there at all.

"It's a long story," she provided. She really didn't have to provide more. It wasn't his business but she usually found giving some explanation with most cops was the best route. "Short version is that Brian was undercover three years on a special investigation. Things went south. He lost his shield in the fallout and was looking at 10 years. IA approached him with a deal. He took it."

"Mmm…" Voight allowed. But she didn't have to read very far into that. She thought he should understand, though. From the bit she'd heard about him. The bit she looked into on his own. But he was a different kind of cop. He did things his own way. Chicago was a different city than New York. And, CPD had its own way of doing things too. Hank definitely took an approach different from hers.

But Olivia just shrugged at him. It wasn't really worth discussing. Brian had done what he thought was best for him at the time. He would've lost his mind stuck on that desk in the courthouse. And, he didn't just want to wait out until he got his pension. He didn't know what to do with himself after he got his pension. He couldn't imagine what his life would look like without the NYPD. She didn't blame him. She struggled with that too.

But he hadn't just made the decision for him. It'd been about the kids. She knew that now. He couched it in other things at that time. That he could barely make ends meet on a unis salary. That it'd impact his pension. But even though they were early in their 'relationship' – under it he'd been thinking longer term. He'd been thinking about how he could eventually help support a family – if she let him. Doing that on the graveyard shift, in uniform, on poverty-line salaries all the way out in the Bronx didn't make sense for him having any presence in their lives. It wouldn't have lasted.

Him working in IA was it's own kettle of fish. It still had its frustration. Neither of them could really talk or vent about work to each other. He still ended up being sent on this fucking undercover assignments where he could be gone days or weeks and she's suddenly left holding the bag and having to explain where he was when there wasn't much of an explanation she could give. "Brian's catching bad guys." Benji and Emmy only carried so much. He was missing things with Emmy and Benji asked insistently about him. Every sports game or practice he missed just made her little boy demand to know where he was more. It was frustrating and heartbreaking. But it was what it was. It was their life. It was the lives and careers they'd chosen. And they were working at figuring out how to navigate that together. Though, there were days she wish he'd just retire from the NYPD. Or at least put in for a transfer. Who would take him at this point though was another story. He was tainted goods given his past and given the growing recognition he was IA. Hopefully that recognition meant that soon he'd be useless for undercover assignments. Though some cops seemed to be dumb enough to think he was still dirty. That he wasn't good police. But most of them had to be pretty dumb in the first place for the kind of shit they were pulling. They didn't need them in the force.

"If it's any consolation I was about as impressed as you are when it happened," she allowed. "His boss. Tucker. He's tried to take my shield more times than I can count. Had me locked up on a trumped up murder charge at one point. And basically pushed both of my partners out. But if I did have to have IA on my ass again now, I'd prefer to have someone like Brian doing the investigation."

"Likely biased on that one," Voight said flatly.

She allowed a small smile. "Maybe a little."

"Must have interesting dinner table talk," he said but he'd gone out to looking at his own kids in the yard. Her eyes drifted to see what he was watching. Ethan looked like he was trying to hang a bucket on some nail that was on the side of the shed's roof. "What do you think you're doing?" Hank barked across the yard.

The kid startled and the bucket tipped from his hands and fell to the ground, some of the water balloons exploding on impact. He turned giving his dad an unimpressed look.

"Establishing a supply for the vantage point," Ethan called across the yard.

"None of you are getting up on that roof," Hank called out even more firmly.

"But—"

"NONE OF YOU ARE GETTING UP ON THAT ROOF," Hank barked even louder.

Ethan made an audible sighing sound at him but apparently decided it wasn't worth arguing and bent to start retrieving the balloons that were still intact and placing them back in the bucket.

"We don't actually talk shop very much," Olivia provided flatly as he turned back to her.

"Mmm…" he acknowledged. It seemed to be his favorite noise. It didn't do much for conversation.

There was a sound – a faint knocking at the door – off in the house Voight gazed through the kitchen for a moment.

"You want me to grab that?" Brian called out from inside.

Hank just instead looked back to the yard. "Erin," he barked again.

The woman looked at him from her efforts to claim the hose from Benji to seemingly fill some water guns. It didn't look like her son was being very open to that negotiation. He wasn't allowed to play with guns. He was more than happy to play fireman with the hose.

"Door," Hank provided, nodding his head in the direction of the house.

Erin dropped what she was doing and came across the small yard and up the steps, heading for the house.

"He's not staying for dinner," Hank told her as she walked by. Lindsay gave him a clearly unimpressed look. It was obvious she felt he was being patronizing. She provided no comment, though, and continued into the house. Though, she did repeatedly wipe her feet on the mat before heading in. Something Brian hadn't done. Hopefully he hadn't track dirt into the house because Olivia suspected that was the kind of thing that would be deeply frowned upon by Hank Voight.

"Uninvited courter?" Olivia asked drily after she was out of sight.

"Something like that," Voight mumbled.

Olivia just gave him a thin smile and leaned against the railing watching her little boy work on flooding the yard some more. That was likely disapproved of behavior too but Hank hadn't said anything about it. He was the one that had gotten the hose out for the kids. So hopefully the mud puddle that was starting to form wasn't upsetting him too much.

"What'd he do before IA?" Voight asked.

Olivia glanced back over her shoulder. "Spent most of it in Narcotics," she said. "We both started out in SVU at the same time. Last millennium."

Voight gave her a small smile. "Couldn't stomach it?"

She shrugged. "Something like that," she allowed.

She glanced at Lindsay returned to the porch with Jay Halstead in tow. She raised a slight eyebrow but Halstead just gave her a little nod.

"Sergaent," was all he provided so Olivia allowed him a thin smile.

"You getting that thing outta my house?" Voight put to him seriously.

Halstead had his hands shoved in his pockets but shrugged and nodded. "Yeah," he allowed.

"You're getting that thing out of my house," Voight said again. That time it was clearly much more of a statement than a question.

"Hank …" Lindsay sighed at him but Voight gave her a deadly look and she let out an annoyed breath and looked away.

Whatever they were arguing about though was short-lived as Ethan came up to the bottom of the steps.

"Hi Jay," he stated. Halstead looked at him but as soon as he did the boy let loose a powerful water gun stream that soaked the young detective. He gaped at the kid for a moment.

"Nice shot," Voight provided with something that resembled a smile and it made his boy glow. Erin, though, cast him another look of death.

"You're such a brat," Erin told him but Ethan just laughed.

She near jumped down the stairs and that sent Ethan running. But Lindsay was fast. She was over to the bucket of water balloons and back at her younger brother and squishing one over his head in a matter of moments. She tossed a much smaller water gun at Halstead – and he accepted it, squirting it vigorously at the kid.

"Hey!" Ethan shrieked at the attack.

"Don't get water on the bike," Justin had said to them.

"Don't get water on the bike," Erin mimicked back to him and then went over and started squirting him repeatedly with a water gun too. He put up his hands to block the spray but apparently grew sick of it and stood up, breezing passed her and picking up the full bucket. He wrestled with her until he had her in a headlock and then began to squish one after another over her head.

"Hey! Some help here!" Erin called out. But apparently all of them had decided to gang up on her at that point. Olivia saw that even Olive was getting Benji to direct the spray over on her – instructing him to pretend that Lindsay was on fire.

"Jay!" Erin screamed. "Aren't you supposed to be some hot shot?"

Halstead was tilting his water gun back and forth and pressing his finger on the trigger madly but nothing was coming out. "Yea … I think I'm all out of ammo."

Lindsay struggled out of her brother's grip and managed to slip on the grass that Benji had been soaking. She seemed undeterred. Even though it was starting to look more like a mud wrestling match. She crawled over to the cache of water guns, tossing another to Halstead and grabbing at some of the balloons to pelt at her brothers while Ethan pumped and sprayed his high-powered gun all over her.

Olivia smiled and looked over to Voight. He was actually smiling too. He was looking at the lot of them the way only a father could. That all seemed rather normal in that moment. Olivia suspected they didn't feel that normal that often.

He must've sensed she was looking at him though and gave her a glance.

"Told her not to date cops," he said flatly. "Especially ones at district."

Olivia let out a little snort and leaned on the railing more to watch the show. "I had that rule," she said. "Ask Brian how that worked out."

She actually kind of hoped for Voight's – and Erin's – sake it didn't work out too much differently. She was happy. She had a good, descent man – as rough around the edges as he was. And she had a family. As weird as they were, as informal, as abnormal as they were: They were perfectly 'normal'.

She thought this family needed that too.

 **Relax ID readers. You won't have to endure SVU characters again for a good while.**


	71. Fault

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Erin glanced at Ethan as she grew tired of waiting for him to hit Start on the screen.

"You done playing?" she asked. He just shrugged at her so she shrugged back. "OK. You should likely go to sleep soon anyway."

They'd come back to her place in the early evening – toting along the game console. Ethan had seemed keen on getting it set up and finally having a chance to actually play it. But he'd been really quiet. She hadn't thought too much of it. He was absorbed in the game. It was probably overtired from the day and likely just generally wasn't feeling that well. It seemed to be how things were those days. But with the way he was looking at her in that moment she knew it was more than that.

"Why are we sleeping here tonight?" the kid asked.

She let out a little sigh and put the controller down on her couch. He was clearly done playing. But she kind of would've preferred that they keep chatting to a minimum. It'd been a long day for her too running on not much sleep. That was actually what the past few weeks had felt like. Or longer. She really stopped counting. Life sort of seemed like a black hole since Nadia died.

"Because I thought we could both use a night in the air conditioning," she offered.

Ethan eyed her. "Dad wouldn't say yes to that."

"Eth, you're here," she said. "He obviously said yes to it."

"Because him and J are talking 'bout me," he said flatly.

"Eth…" she sighed at him.

"They are," he said. "He sent me away so they could talk. Just like he always does."

Erin sat back in her couch and gazed at him. "Your dad wants a chance to talk to Justin and Olive so they understand what's going on," she provided.

"Why?" Ethan said. "Justin just thinks I should be dead."

She gave him an unimpressed look. "He does not think you should be dead," she told him sternly but with a touch of annoyance.

"He does. I heard him," Ethan contended.

"I know you think you heard him say that," Erin allowed. "But I was sitting right there and if he'd said something like that I would've smacked him. He didn't say anything like that."

"He thinks I'm all fucked up."

"So what?" she pushed back at him. "Older brothers are supposed to think that about little brothers. I think both of you are all fucked up. Our whole family is fucked up, Ethan."

Ethan just blinked at her and then let out a slow breath. "What if I don't want dad telling him anything?"

"Why wouldn't you want him to tell him?"

Ethan shrugged. "He doesn't care."

"He does care," Erin pressed back at him.

"No he doesn't," Ethan said. "He says and does fucking stupid things and then get goes and tries to make up for it by buying me stupid things."

She gave him an annoyed look. "Stupid things like that bike and water gun that he bought you that you seemed all about all afternoon?"

Ethan just shrugged defiantly at her and looked away. "He doesn't even live here. He shouldn't even care."

"He cares because he doesn't live here," Erin pressed and reached and pushed his shoulder roughly to get him to look at her. "Him not being here makes him worry more."

"He never worried when he was in jail. Or when I was away at school."

She sighed. "Ethan, he wrote you."

"He never came to visit after he got out," he said.

She let out a breath. "Eth, you know that your dad felt that us going up and visiting you all the time was just going to make things harder for you. And Justin wasn't out all that long before he was off to Basic. He can't just … do what he wants anymore now that he's got a commitment to the army."

Ethan eyed her. "I don't want Dad telling him all sorts of stuff," he said angrily. "I don't want them talkin' 'bout me!"

"Well they are," she shrugged. "And there's not much you can do about it."

He stood from the couch. "I can go back and tell them to shut the fuck up."

She grabbed at his wrist and yanked firmly enough to cause him to stumble back so she could grab his waistband and pull him back onto the couch.

"Don't be a fuck-wit," she told him.

"Dad's not talkin' to me about it," Ethan glared at her.

She let out a breath and gazed at the ceiling for a moment before looking back to him. "What do you want your Dad to say about it to you?"

"If he wishes I was dead too," Ethan put flatly but looked away from her gazing at the floor.

"What the hell would you say something like that?" she spat at him and gave him a smack on the back of his head. But he gave her even more hurt eyes. She let out a little sigh and shuffled closer to him on the couch.

"Ethan," she said more softly, putting an arm around him and rocking him slightly by the shoulder. "That's not how your dad thinks."

"He loved Mom more," he whispered.

Erin shook her head. "He loved your mom different. She was his wife. The mother of his kids. He loved her that way. He loves you as his kid. He loves you very much."

"He doesn't show it and he's acting all weird," Ethan mumbled.

"Ethan," Erin sighed. "You dad shows it in lots of ways. Him taking you to the appointment today and looking after you. Him smoking those ribs for you all afternoon. Him getting St. Ignatius all set up for you. He does all those things to show how much he cares about you."

"So I really get to stay?" Ethan asked, casting her a small look. "He said we'd talk about it in July. If I was good."

She let out a little noise and shook her head. "No, Eth. That was before. This is now. Your dad is getting you set up at St. Ignatius."

Maybe she shouldn't tell him that. Leave it to Hank to tell him. He was likely still using it as some sort of discipline leverage – even now. But it didn't make much sense to her. He was going to be starting Ethan in on assessments for the IEP and at the school soon anyway. Ethan wasn't dumb – even if he needed some extra help. He'd figure out pretty quick he was going to St. Ignatius in the fall even if Hank was being all hushed up about it like it was some big secret. It wasn't. It shouldn't be. Ethan was home. It was where he needed to be. Where he should be.

"He's still acting all weird," Ethan muttered.

"He's just being himself."

"He's not acting all mad at me," Ethan said. "He's all like … sad or something."

Erin let out a little breath. "Yea," she agreed. "A little. I think we all are. We're all just doing our best to figure out how to deal with everything. We're just worried about you."

"But I'm fine," Ethan said firmly, nearly gritting his teeth in the process.

"I know," Erin acknowledged. "We just want you to keep being that way."

Ethan made an annoyed sound and flopped back into the couch, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Don't pout about it," she told him firmly.

He gave he an even more annoyed look. "I don't know why you and Justin need to talk to Dad about it so much. It's not a big deal."

She looked at him firmly. "Eth, it is a big deal. It means changes in our lives and our family – even if you think you're feeling fine."

"I'M FINE!" Ethan hissed even more viciously at her.

"OK," she shrugged. "But when you're puking and having trouble seeing it makes us feel like you aren't fine."

He just glared at her.

"The thing is with your dad is that he's a private person. And he's used to doing things his own way. He doesn't like getting advice. Or having to talk about things in the family very much. But me and J – we're adults – and we have to have a voice in some of the decisions and we want to know what's going on. Your dad's trying to figure out how he wants to deal with that."

"Well what about my voice and me wanting to know what's going on," Ethan spat at her.

She nodded. "That's important too. So we're working at learning how to talk about all this as a family. And part of that is your dad getting some private time to talk to Justin and Olive about it."

"You all talked last night," Ethan said defiantly.

Erin looked at him. "Us talking last night didn't go very well," she allowed. "Justin felt blindsided. He got upset. That's what you heard."

"And so he wishes Mom was alive and I was dead," Ethan said flatly.

"No," Erin said firmly, raising her voice. "We all wish it'd never happened but there's nothing we can do about that. It happened. We all just need to cope and go on with our lives."

"Yea," Ethan muttered. "You're not the one who has multiple sclerosis and brain damage and has to live with Dad."

"You're lucky you have to live with your dad," Erin told him drilling her eyes into him. "Because your dad will make sure you get the best possible care and every possible opportunity to succeed."

"He didn't for Justin."

"What?" she put back to him even more annoyed. "Because he went to jail?"

"Ethan, your brother drank and drive – repeatedly. And he paralyzed another boy. A kid not much older than you. He played sports too. Hockey. He's not in a wheelchair for life. He's still going through rehab and physical therapy. Spent months in a rehabilitation center."

"So?" Ethan hissed at her. "I did too. It's not a big deal."

"It's not a big deal?" she glared at him. "Who was in tears about us even having to go to appointments at the Trauma Center again? Who doesn't want to go in for the physical therapy appointments so we can figure out what's the best exercise and physical activities for you?"

"We don't need to figure it out!" Ethan yelled at her. "It's baseball!"

"It's not baseball!" she raised her voice right back at him. "It's swimming and yoga."

"I'M NOT SWIMMING OR DOING YOGA! I'M PLAYING BASEBALL AND I'M GOING BACK TO BOXING!" he screamed so loudly that she saw his eyes water.

She shook her head and looked away. She didn't see the point in arguing with him about it. It wasn't one she'd win and it would just serve to agitate him and devastate him more. Let Hank be the bad guy. Let him figure out how to take those things away from him – permanently. Or let him figure out how they would be able to include them in his life.

"Just be grateful you have your dad," Erin said more evenly.

"I'm not grateful," Ethan muttered. "I hate him."

"No you don't," Erin said so firmly that she almost felt herself shake.

"I do," he said. "It's all his fault."

"None of this is his fault," Erin said.

"It is," Ethan said flatly. "Justin says so all the time."

"Your brother spouts that bullshit when he's being a little shit and trying to push your dad's buttons," Erin hissed. "You saying shit like that too will devastate him. He hurts that you guys don't have your mom. It kills him what you're going through, Ethan," she said and felt tears welling behind her eyes. "It killed him having you go through all of what you've been through. And he really fucking misses your mom. And this time of year is not the time to be telling him it's his fault. Not with this going on with you and with the baby getting her. He's thinking about her and missing her and blaming himself enough."

"So, see," Ethan said. "Even he knows it's his fault."

Erin leaned forward and gave Ethan a firm slap across the back of the head. The sound resonated in her quiet apartment and his hand immediately went to the back of his head and he gaped at her. She didn't care if it rattled his brain more all than it already was. She didn't care if it smarted – it was supposed to.

"It's not his fault," she told him. "And you're stupidly fucking lucky to have him as your dad. As your fucking parent. And some day when you aren't a fucking spoiled, obnoxious little pre-teen brat you're going to think back on some of the bullshit you've said and shit you've put him through – and you're going to be sorry you didn't show him some more respect and appreciation when you were growing up. You should be hugging him and thanking him and telling him you love him – not saying punk-ass shit."

Ethan glared at her for a good long beat but then just looked away. "I want to go to sleep now," he said quietly.

She sighed at him. "You want the bed or the couch?" she asked him.

"Here," he said under his breath.

"Are you going to sit up watching TV all night?"

He just shrugged. She suspected now that she'd put him in his place he was either going to punish himself or stew. Not do what he was supposed to do – sleep. Get some fucking rest so they could get through the rest of the weekend.

"You should sleep so you're able to enjoy tomorrow," she put to him.

"This weekend sucks," he muttered.

"It doesn't suck," she pressed. "I had fun this afternoon."

"I didn't," he said flatly.

"You're just spouting bullshit again," she contended.

They'd had fun. It'd been a little awkward having Benson and her family there but they'd only been there a couple hours and the little kids were cute. Beyond that the water fight had been fun. Any opportunity to felt Hank with water balloons was entertaining. Not that he looked nearly as entertained by it as the three of them were. And there'd definitely been a retiliation attack. He'd only soaked her with Ethan's heavy-duty super soaker. But he'd still proven that he could hold his own with Justin and had him on the ground and the hose at him at one point. It was likely a good way for both of them to get some of their pent up aggression and frustration out with each other. He'd been careful about his counterattacks on Ethan though. It'd probably left the kid feeling a little left out. But she'd still made sure to chase after him and give him as good of whooping as she could without causing him any physical trauma.

They'd all been soaked. But given the heat that hadn't much mattered. What did matter was that they'd pretty much destroyed their cache of water balloons. So they'd ended up going out to get more – just in case there was a street water battle the next day. She wasn't sure any of them would be allowed to participate beyond Ethan. But still. Make sure he had some so he could connect with the kids.

They'd gotten popsicles. They'd sat around and eaten them like a normal family. Though, they might've sort of ruined Ethan's dinner with the treat. He didn't show too much interest in the ribs. Though, Justin and Jay more than made up anything that he didn't eat. Justin and Hank were almost polite to Jay too. Or at least not stand-off-ish enough that it scared him away. Not that Jay was really intimidated by Hank or Justin. But still.

It'd been a decent afternoon. A nice evening. Jay had come with them back to her place. He'd gotten the Xbox set up for Ethan there but didn't stay long after that. Basically, he'd told her that Ethan had asked about their relationship status and he didn't want to give him any ideas by overstaying. Erin didn't think that would give Ethan ideas. He clearly already had them. And, she didn't really care if he did. She didn't much care what her baby brother thought about who she was dating – or should be dating. And, she was pretty sure she had Ethan's seal of approval on Jay anyway. Really the only approval that held any heed was Hank's – and only because he could figure out ways to make their work lives miserable if he didn't get over this.

Ethan just gave her a look, though. He clearly didn't want to acknowledge that the day had been pretty good despite a rough start. He clearly didn't want to acknowledge that what they had planned for tomorrow was almost exclusively for him. There wouldn't be a barbecue or firework outing happening if he hadn't requested it. She likely wouldn't even be kicking around Hank's that weekend if Ethan wasn't there. She'd be finding other things to do with her time and ways to get into her own kind of trouble.

She really kind of wanted to smack him and tell him to cheer up and perk up. She got that he was low. That he was having a rough go too. But they all just needed to make the best of things. And everyone was trying. As best as they knew how. With their own bumps along the way.

"Eth …" she sighed. "Can I ask you something? That I want you to give me an honest answer on."

He squinted at her. "I don't think so."

She snorted at him and just gave him serious eyes. "All that weed you had on you when you got home," she put to him. "You hadn't just tried a couple joints."

He looked away from her and fidgeted while he looked at the floor. "It's just pot," he said quietly. "It's not a big deal."

"I'm not saying it's a big deal," she said. "I'd just like to know how long you've been smoking up."

"So you can tell Dad," he said flatly.

She shook her head. "Your dad doesn't care how long. He just cares that you're using."

"Well, I'm not now," he protested firmly. "None of you ever leave me alone so I could even if I wanted to."

"Do you want to?" she asked.

He gave her a glance. "No," he put flatly but his eyes said otherwise.

"Do you want to because you like the way it makes you feel or because it was helping you with the pain?"

He examined her at that. Carefully. But he didn't answer.

"Does it help you sleep?" she pressed.

Ethan just looked away and sighed. "It doesn't matter," he said.

"Yes it does," Erin said.

He shrugged. "No, it doesn't," he said. "I'm fine."

She wondered what it was going to take to get him to accept he wasn't. She didn't think they'd really be able to help him. That they could make some progress as a family. Find some kind of resolution. Until he did.


	72. Before

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Hank gave Erin a thin smile as she returned to the blankets he was sticking on and generally keeping guard of their food and belongings. She sat herself down next to him and worked at brushing some of the sand off her. He examined her as she did and gave her arm a poke. From the shore to the blanket and she'd developed a good goose flesh.

"How's the water," he asked with some sarcasm to it but he'd already found her towel out of the pile and draped it across the back of her shoulders.

"Not bad," she shrugged at him, as she pulled the towel around her a bit more tightly.

It wasn't bad. It was about as warm as could be expected for a water mass that large that early in the summer. They'd had some pretty warm days. It wasn't exactly freezing. And the air was warm and muggy enough that the cool water felt nice. It was just with the dusk breeze coming in off the lake – slowly working to lower the day's temperatures – she skin had protested a bit.

"You should go in," she said and nudged him a bit with her shoulder.

But he shook his head. "I'm good," he said flatly.

His eyes, though, were set firmly on where Justin was goofing around in the water with Ethan, Olive wading about up to her knees nearby. He had him hauled over his shoulder at that moment and was wadding him further out into the water – likely to toss him into it. Erin didn't have to be down with them anymore to know Ethan was laughing amidst his protesting. Enjoying the attention from his brother.

"I'll watch the stuff," she offered. "Ethan will like it if you go play with him."

Hank just shook his head again and gave a little nod in the general direction. "They're entertaining him pretty good."

"Yeah," Erin shrugged. "But pretty sure me and Justin were doing it wrong and only dad tosses him into the water quite the right way. And how many more years will you be able to hurl him that far?"

Hank gave a small amused snort at that and cast her a look but she ignored it. She knew Hank could hold his own. If he really wanted to, he could more than manage to overpower her and likely Justin to toss them in the lake in just the right way to make sure they got a mouthful and noseful of water.

"How he doing energy-wise?" Hank asked. "Think he's going to make it to the fireworks?"

She gave a little nod. But she was scoping out the snacks again. She was taking a refueling moment. Or that was her excuse. She was really just checking on Hank since he hadn't joined them in the water. He was making it sound like someone had to guard their belongings. He had a point. The beach was busy with the holiday, the nice weather and people trying to claim a spot to watch the show. But they could go in rotations. Or keep an eye on their things from the shore. It wasn't like they'd had to claim a patch of grass several hundred feet away from the water.

She reached and claimed the open bag of corn chips. She shouldn't be hungry. They'd eaten a feast. The burgers were Grade A. The potato salad and corn on the cob were ridiculously good too – even if they were all carbs. And Hank had managed to pull of Camille's strawberry shortcake – though there'd be a whole lot of swearing in the kitchen in the process. Baking was not his thing. It'd still hit the spot even if it didn't taste quite the way Camille did it – it was close. She really could've rolled away from the table after they'd finished up.

But entertaining Ethan was hard work. Especially when it involved getting him to play nice with Justin and not shy with Olive. It'd been a chore and it'd mostly been assigned to her since Hank had been dealing with the prep and cooking – and declining any offers of help. Likely because he didn't want to deal with getting everyone to play nice together.

They'd done OK, though. Ethan seemed a bit friendlier and Justin was trying. Everyone just seemed calmer after their night apart. So they were able to enjoy the day rather than walk on eggshells. That was important.

"I think he's going to make it," she said. "He'll be upset if you put in a veto."

Hank nodded but continued gazing down to the water at his sons and Olive. He was being quiet – even for Hank. He had been all day. She wasn't sure what that meant. Maybe his talk with Justin and Olive had gone a bit deeper than just talking about Ethan. Maybe it had brought up other things or stirred a bit more in him. Or he could just be tired. She wasn't really sure Hank ever got tired. Not the way most people did. But the past couple weeks had been pretty exhausting on a lot of levels. If he was a normal person, he'd likely take a day or two off to try to regroup and rest up to go at it all again. But that wasn't Hank. He needed to work. Plough himself into the ground before he let up.

"He'll be up here eventually," Erin told him. "Thinks you're going to take him to the concessions for ice cream."

"Mmm…" Hank allowed a little smile. "That's what we used to do."

She gave a little nod. The whole day had been 'what we used to do'. Before. A long time before it seemed like anymore. That was likely part of the reason Hank had been being quiet.

The barbecue for a late lunch – right down to the dessert. The water fight with the street kids followed by watermelon on the back porch while they were still soaking wet and spilling seeds across the yard – seeing who could get it the farthest. Still Hank. Though, Justin had enough practice on the technique he almost out did him. The lazy few hours of rest in the afternoon until they packed up some snacks to head down to the beach. Swimming in the still chilly lake water while waiting for the fireworks. And always the trip down to the concession stand to get ice cream cones before the show really did start – usually around the time the sun was setting so they could sit and watch that before the sky was lit up again. The only thing that really had been missing was Camille. And she'd really been missing.

They hadn't done this since the summer she died. They hadn't done a lot of things. Hank tried to keep some of the little traditions going but others it was clear he just wanted to drop – they hurt too much. Some things just got pushed to the wayside because he was now focused on being a single father and trying to get his youngest through months and years of rehabilitation. They'd only started to get out of that tunnel when the other shit had hit the fan and their family fractured again – this time in a different way. And, really, a lot of the little traditions and activities, they'd been for Ethan at that point. She was grown. She wasn't living at home anymore. Justin was in his late-teens and way too cool for a lot of the family stuff done for baby brother anyway. So it'd been allowed to fade into the background.

But Ethan was still a kid. He still had memories of how things used to by and things he liked – and things he didn't feel too big or too grown up or too cool to shun just yet. July Fourth and a barbecue and beach time and fireworks were on that list – even if it did include dad buying him ice cream. But Erin had learned in her time with the Voights that dad buying ice cream was one of those things that a normal family should have. It's one of those things that dads were just supposed to do. And, yeah, there was something about it that made it feel right and like home and like family – no matter how corny that might be. It was just one of those wholesome, mundane moments that she hadn't gotten enough of when she was little and still enjoyed getting treated to occasionally now –or at least watching them through Ethan's eyes.

"Camille would like this," she offered carefully. "Today."

"Mmm …" Hank allowed, his eyes still set on the water. "She'd like it more if she was here."

"She is, Hank," Erin provided.

He glanced at her and gave her a thin, sad smile but then let his eyes drift back to his boys.

"She would've liked to see that," Hank said and gave a small point at Olive. "A grandma. She'd say she's too young to be a grandma. Give him heck for it."

Erin allowed a little smile. "Yeah, likely."

"A boy," Hank said quietly and shook his head. "They're in trouble."

"Olive didn't know what she was getting into with Voight boys," Erin provided.

Hank gave her a thin smile. "Probably shouldn't have let them visit this weekend. See Ethan in full form. Scare her."

Erin shrugged. "She doesn't look too scared to me."

"Mmm…" Hank allowed and continued gazing.

She saw him crack a smile as Justin managed to swipe his arm over the top of the water to create a wave large enough that it completely over took Ethan and had enough of a wake that it splashed up on Olive too. Her hands had come up like she was surprised by the cold water hitting her but even from there she could see that Justin was laughing. Olive's back was to them. Hopefully she was too. Ethan was just sputtering and spitting water. He was flopping around like a flounder. He clearly was in need of the swimming lessons he was so resistant to.

"Camille would be proud of you," Erin said as she watched too.

Hank shrugged. "There's nothing to be proud of there."

"They're your kids, Hank," Erin pressed. "You're allowed to be proud of them. Camille would be proud that you'd gotten to this point."

He cast her a look. "They're my kids. You get them from Point A to Point B."

"Not all parents do," she contended giving him a look that summed up all the unspoken story about what her childhood had been before he and Camille had rescued her from it. "And Camille never expected you to have to do it on your own."

Hank just shrugged again and went back to staring down the shore. Ethan was coming up from the water. He was shivering like crazy now that he was out of the lake. Hank was already reaching to kind another one of the towels for him.

"You ready to get out, Magoo?" he asked as he held it up to him, but Ethan didn't even accept the towel. "Get you back into drier clothes before it gets dark?"

"Why aren't you coming in, Dad?" Ethan asked, his teeth chattering.

"Watching the stuff," Hank said flatly.

"But Erin came to watch the stuff," Ethan shivered.

"Hmm …" Hank allowed and examined the shaking kid. "I come in for 10 minutes, you get out and get changed before the temperature drops."

Ethan shivered but nodded. Hank cast her a look but she just gave him a little smile. He needed some time to play with his kids – not just be dad. Be the parent. Take care of them. She thought that was one of the main things that had been lost with Camille. Time. Her time but also a shifting of Hank's time. The time for play and fun and attention that he'd used to give had dwindled. He worked and then he came home and he parented – he cooked, he cleaned, he supervised homework, he set rules, he kept house. He didn't have much time for some of the better and lighter sides of parenting. Maybe he didn't much want to do them anymore. He didn't want the fun or the memories. Not without Camille there. But maybe that was something they needed to work on shifting too. They'd still have a couple years left with Ethan before he really started to shun them. They should enjoy it while it lasted.

Ethan had already started to head back down the beach but apparently Hank decided a bit differently. Maybe he'd decided to lighten up. Or he'd gotten ideas into his head from watching Justin and Ethan goof around. But he was up quickly.

He'd already been sitting there with his shoes and socks off like he might be planning to go in eventually. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it at Erin. She managed to grab it in midair and worked at folding it for him as he made some quick strides down the beach to catch up with his son. Before Ethan even knew what was happening, Hank had him hoisted up and tossed over his shoulder like he was little more than a bag of potatoes. Ethan made a startled sound at first but after he realized what was happening, a smile had grown across his face that Erin wished Hank could see. He wouldn't in that positioning, though.

He carried the boy down to the water. She could hear Justin calling out some commentary. Likely about his Old Man not throwing out his back with the acrobats. But that only caused Hank to hoist Ethan even higher – almost over his head – and toss him like a log into the water, Ethan flipping and rolling in the air before splashing down. Ethan out of his arms and still under the water and Hank was closing the gap to Justin. Justin quickly realized where it was headed and tried to make some strides away. They had a minor kerfuffle as Hank again managed to out-maneuver Justin and get him in a headlock down around the water just as Ethan was finishing his sputtering and ready to splash his older brother repeatedly in the face while Justin squirmed and tired to get out of the grip. He finally did and flipped Hank a bit, only for his dad to come back up and nearly toss him over his shoulder and back into the water.

Erin couldn't hear what they were saying. But she could hear them hooting and hollering down there. And she could see all three of them smiling.

They didn't do that often anymore. Not at the same time.

It was a better show than any fireworks that were going to be put on.


	73. Safe Travels

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Hank finished lacing up the back hatch of of Justin's rental as his son continued to fiddle around with trying to get things to fit better through the side door. Kid really should've rented a pick-up, a van or a U-Haul trailer to get the crib and change table dragged to base. It was going to be a long drive back with the hatch popped partly open. But he thought he'd done a good job at getting it tied to ensure it wouldn't come undone in the middle of the road at least.

"You're gonna have to make sure you're watching your blind spots good," Hank told him again as he came around to the side. "You got this thing packed to the gunnels."

"I've got it, Pops," Justin assured him with a tad of that irritation showing in his voice.

At least he'd toned it down a lot for most of the weekend. But the kid still thought he knew best in about 90 per cent of things. At least that was some improvement. Now there were at least 10 per cent of things in the world that apparently Hank wasn't as dumb as shit on in his oldest's mind. He figured that the percentages would keep shifting a bit after the baby arrived and Justin finally got to see what having a child and raising a son was like. Likely would start to shift a bit more when he hit 25 and 30. Though, maybe not. Erin still had moments where she'd get insubordinate and treat him like he was the fucking stupidest person she'd met in her life.

Funny how kids got away with that shit. To a point. Anyone else would get their teeth knocked out and their head bashed in.

It was fucking hard dealing with adult kids. Grown ups. Where you wanted them to be. Thing was they were still your kids and no matter how old they got they still had growing to do. Shit they still hadn't learned yet just because they hadn't been alive long enough. World hadn't thrown everything it could at them quite yet. Even if it had the fucking world – life – was always finding new ways to fuck with you. And somehow having kids meant you'd taken on trying to help them through each and every fucking hurdle it put in their way. Big ones and little ones. Sometimes it meant creating hurdles of your own for them just to teach them how to fucking get their shit together to pull themselves over them on their own accord.

Voight had never much dwelled on the fucking age gaps in his kids. It just never seemed to matter. They were all their own people. He treated them each fucking differently anyways. Had to deal with Erin differently than Justin always. She was a girl. She'd been through way more shit. She had so many fucking issues when she came into their home. It wasn't about each. It was about fucking experience and trauma. Justin was a boy. He treated his son differently than he would a daughter. It was a given. He expected different things out of him. Admittedly he was a little more strong handed with him.

And Ethan – he was the baby. He always had been. Their unexpected addition to their family. It'd been clear from the moment Camille got pregnant he was going to be babied. And, even Hank admitted that he'd babied Ethan a bit more than his other kids. But he also started asking a lot of him at a lot younger age than he had either Justin or Erin. He started pushing his boy to growing up when he was barely seven. Because he had to. Even though he was just a fucking little kid. He still was. But the kid carried more weight than any kid should have to carry – especially his kid. Especially when he'd worked so fucking hard to keep the fucking world off their doorsteps – the unfairness of life and the underbelly of Chicago.

But life and the city had won. They'd pushed into their lives and they'd robbed each and every one of its kids in their own ways. Put them all through little hells when they were still growing up. Seemed like it was part of being in the Voight household. Had his strong-headed and handed father taken from him when he was 15. It all set you on a path. Good or bad. Some days he didn't fucking know. He just knew he needed to fucking practice what he preached to his kids – don't be too hard on yourself. Easier said than done. Especially when you had people depending on you who you felt like you'd fucked up and lost more than once. Second chances. He didn't usually give them. But he seemed to get them. Maybe that was the city or life's mea culpa. For what it was worth.

Having adult kids when you still had an actually kid was proving fucking more complicated than he'd like though. Erin and Justin both had opinions on how the situation with Ethan should be dealt with. And neither of them seemed to scared to share those thoughts and opinions – forcibly. It was fucking as annoying as shit. Ethan was his little boy. His kids. His decision. He didn't need them rearing their ugly heads and telling him what to do. What the fuck did they know?

But they seemed to think they knew a lot. They'd grown up with him. They knew how he dealt with things. Maybe more than he did. And there were things they didn't want dealt with in the usual way. They wanted him to give all these passes and exceptions to Ethan. To bend the rules and his morals and his code. To step back from the job and spend more time playing Mr. Mom. He wasn't no Mr. Mom. He never had been. Even after Camille was done. He was Dad. He was Pops. He didn't do the soft touch. Not the way they wanted him to bend anyway.

And then they wanted him to keep them abreast of every fucking little thing. To let them have a say. It was just too fucking exhausting. And, really, he didn't want to know what they thought. He could only think of one circumstance where he might even hear them out – and it wasn't a circumstance that they were anywhere near at the moment. His kid was up and breathing and relatively functional. They just had a lifetime of chronic illness and cognitive issues to deal with. Or he did. Maybe that's the point he should bring them in. Hopefully both his oldest would outlive him – that's the way the universe was supposed to work but he didn't know that things always worked out that way in his universe – so it'd be Justin and Erin who'd have to take on helping Ethan at some point. But Hank also believed that at that point – fucking years down the road – his boy would be stable and married and kids of his own to help him out. It'd be his wife making decisions about him and sacrifices for him – not Justin and Erin still providing their endless input and advice. Hopefully by then they'd have found something else to focus on. Their own families. Not him and not their baby brother.

But at least it meant Ethan had a support network. He had a brother and sister to help him get by. He hadn't had that. Maybe things would've been different if he did. Because otherwise after your folks are gone – well there you are. You got the family you've made. Love you or leave you. Or get taken from you. It seemed to be how it worked.

"OK," Hank allowed, though, not getting into it with his son.

They'd had it out enough on the weekend. And they'd calmed enough. Heard each other out. Eventually. Or so he hoped. So now they just needed to move on. Keep sailing for calmer waters again. He'd try a little harder to keep Justin in the loop when he felt it was necessary and he'd answer questions and listen when his son called. And he wouldn't lay down orders on Ethan or Erin about talking to their brother and keeping things secret. In exchange, Justin wouldn't be a fucking dickwad to Ethan. And he wouldn't fucking treat him like a cripple or a retard or some sort of charity case. Only acceptable way to treat him was as his baby brother. End of story.

"So drive safe," Hank said and stuck out his hand.

Justin looked at it for a moment before he took it but then stepped forward and wrapped his armed around him. It took Hank off guard for a second but then he brought his arms around his boy too and hugged him tightly back – giving his back a good firm rub and pat before gripping at the kid's shoulder.

"I love you, Dad," Justin said quietly.

Hank nodded against him. "Love you too, Kid," he confirmed but after only a second more he pulled away and looked at him.

His boy had really grown up since being in the Army. Personality and appearance. He had thought he had in prison but the Army had done it more. In a better way. More the way Hank wanted. Turn him into a good man. A real man. Grow up for the right reasons. Still had some of his innate personality and immaturity in him. That hotheadedness. But some of his impatience had faded. That ego didn't seem quite as inflated. Though, there was still a bit of a chip on his shoulder. But maybe that would be what kept him alive.

Hank gave him a couple bully punches in his bicep. "You're going to do good," he assured him.

He would. He trusted that – as much as he didn't. But he had to place some faith in his son. He'd take care of his boy. He'd figure out how to be a father. A dad. Fumble through it and work it out. Wouldn't be leaving Olive or that baby boy in a lurch. For all his faults – his boy was better than that. And he was growing to be so much more than that.

Justin gave him a thin smile and Hank gave him a last pat on the back as he moved passed him and to Olive. He gave her a genuine smile and carefully offered a hug, which she gestured to accept. He kept it brief and stepped back from her, rubbing at her biceps too. He took a final look at her baby bump – last time he'd likely be seeing her like that.

"So you make him stop all the times you need," he told her.

She nodded. "I will. Have to with this one," she conceded. "He thinks my bladder is a trampoline."

"Mmm…" Hank allowed and smiled down at the presence of his grandson.

He'd gotten to feel him move a few more times over the weekend but he wasn't about to put his hand on Olive again without her giving permission and she wasn't, though her hand was sitting on her own stomach. Maybe she didn't want to get the baby all stirred up before they got in the car.

"Well, good luck," Hank said, moving his eyes back up to her face.

She gave him a shy smile. He got the sense she'd been hearing horror stories about labor from the other women on base and wasn't much looking forward to it. But it was part of the process. Seemed like most women didn't regret in the end and it wasn't bad enough that they opted to stop at one. He was sure they'd take good care of her at the hospital anyway. It'd been a healthy pregnancy. Baby looked good. Olive was doing good too. Just a waiting game now.

He nodded over to where Ethan and Erin were sitting on the front steps, mostly staying out of the way as they did the packing. Or rather – Erin was working to keep Ethan out of the way. He'd wanted to help in the dismantling of the baby items but he'd been getting underfoot and losing pieces that they had to sweep through the grass for. So she got put on babysitting duty while he and Justin finished up on getting the things into the car. Justin was fucking going to be working hours to get the furniture back together. The two of them really should've just ordered something rather than all this. But at least it made Hank feel like he was contributing something to the whole baby prep work. He'd add some more after the baby was there and after the women had done a shower for Olive. Wasn't much point it just getting them duplicate crap and shipping it across state-lines. He'd figure something more meaningful out after they'd settled a bit. He didn't know what. What the fuck do you get a baby besides clothes and stuffed animals? Likely start an education savings fund for him or something. Maybe he'd finally be the Voight that went to college. But maybe Justin would still beat him to it or Ethan would defy the odds too.

"After you get settled with the baby a bit, I'll take a few days. Me and Ethan will come out at least. Do some supply runs for you. Some night shifts. Let you get some shut-eye."

She smiled again a little less shyly that time. "We'd really like that," she said sincerely.

Hank just nodded and gestured for Ethan to come say his goodbyes. He was awkward with Olive and patted at the baby bump without permission telling the baby that he'd meet him soon. But he was more comfortable with his brother, who picked him up in a tight, floppy hug with his legs hanging down.

"Don't give Pops too much shit," Justin told him.

"I won't," Ethan mumbled against him.

"Yea, you better not," Justin said. "And you keep in touch. After you go into St. Iggy's and get the grand tour, I want to hear all about which teams you're going to be trying out for and which clubs you're going to join."

"Yeah," Ethan said a little defeated.

Justin and Erin had both been drilling into him that he had to let Ethan at least try sports. That they'd deal with it in the aftermath if he couldn't handle it. But he wasn't sure he much wanted to do that until Ethan's steroid therapy was done, the saw how he was handling the injections and they'd met with the physical therapist and the athletic therapist to start to figure out what exactly his boy could manage without getting clobbered in the head because he couldn't see something coming or without exasperating his symptoms because of too much activity and strain on his muscles and nervous system. But then Justin had to go and get Olive to spout some story about some kid with M.S. who played varsity football in high school and went on to play college ball on scholarship. And Hank wasn't able to be quite as rude to her in telling her to shut up as listen to his plan and how he was going to do things as he could with his own kids.

"And, you decide you need a break from this, you just give me or Olive a call and we'll figure out a way for you to come down for a few days. Can hang out with Henry," Justin told him.

"OK," Ethan said.

Justin put him on the ground and ruffled his hair. "And, cut your hair before I see you next. You look like a sheepdog. A fucking girl sheepdog."

Ethan squinted at him and readjusted the messy mop, carefully making sure it flopped over his scarred side. "I like it."

Justin gave him a weak smile and a little nudge. "OK," he allowed. "So we'll see ya when you and Pop come down. And then if you don't come out again before – we'll come up here in September or October. Take Henry to his first Cubbies game."

Ethan gave him a sad nod so Justin leaned into him. "Or maybe we can convince Pop or sis to do some babysitting and the three of us will go out to Great America."

Ethan just shrugged at him. Ethan had already expressed that he felt like Justin was trying to be overly nice after being an ass and after being long absence. He'd cheered up a bit with him over the course of the weekend but still seemed to be playing cautious. The kid definitely wasn't as excited about big brother as he had been when it was just the idea of him coming home.

Hank was sort of grateful for just a shrug, though. Because he wasn't sure he liked the idea of his kid's brain being rattled around on rollercoasters all day. But that was a battle that wasn't worth arguing at that particular moment – especially if Ethan had zero interest in the first place. And, the realism of Olive wanting an amusement park day a couple months after giving birth – especially if she was breastfeeding – was likely a little far fetched anyways. Not that Justin likely would've thought of that yet either. He'd learn.

Erin had pushed by Ethan a bit at that, though. "I think it will just be Popa babysitting if there's a Great America trip in the offing," she said, offering Ethan a little smile. She knew Ethan would likely go if she was there. Four people made more sense for any of those rides anyway.

She gave Justin a brief hug. "Don't fuck this up," Hank heard her tell him quietly.

He pulled back from the hug and gave her a bit of a look but all he said was, "You should come out with E and Pop."

Erin gave a little shrug. "Maybe," she conceded. "I kinda fucked up my furlough to be taking time."

Justin gave Hank a glance at that but he only shrugged. Erin had handed in her badge. She'd gone on a drug and alcohol spiralling binge. She'd disappeared and dug herself for three good weeks – repeatedly telling not just him but Halstead -that she wasn't coming back. When she did sober up enough to come to her senses and to start self-loathing about something different than before, a shift that actually let him help her, it'd taken a lot of string pulling to get her back on the job and in her slot and to make it just look like she'd taken a leave. She was still having to earn her way back and prove herself – not just to him – as it was. She needed to be held accountable – not for Nadia – but for her decisions about how she'd dealt with her grieving and let down herself, him, her team and the city. He wasn't going to start signing papers to give her more time off work even if it was so she could see her new baby nephew. She wanted to see Henry – she could blitz the drive on a couple back-to-back days she wasn't on shift. She was an adult – she could figure it out. He wasn't going to make it happen for her.

Justin's slightly sad but also timidly accusing eyes moved back to his sister. "Keep me in the loop," he told her simply.

She nodded. "I will," she assured.

He vaguely nodded. "And, take care of them," he said, nodding slightly in their directions.

Erin gave him a thin smile. "Always."

Justin gave her a sad look but then stepped by her, giving Ethan another small punch in the shoulder and trying to get him to smile. But he looked about like the world was ending. His big brother was leaving again. Most of his memories of Justin seemed to be of him leaving. Him not being around. Those weren't the kind of memories a little kid needed of his big brother. But it was what it was.

Justin opened the passenger door and Olive awkwardly got in, him closing the door behind her. He gave Voight a final sad smile and moved around the car. Hank moving slightly to stand closer to the front windows.

"Drive safe," he called as his son started up the engine.

Justin just nodded and held up a hand in a wave, Olive too, as they pulled away from the curb. Justin tapped on the horn twice and then made his way down the street. The three of them holding up a hand in a final wave goodbye.

"That sucks," Ethan said quietly as the rental turned the corner and disappeared out of sight.

Hank shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Is what it is," he provided.

Wasn't much more than that. Just life. How the world worked.

Another day done. On to the next one.


	74. City's Dime

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

"So you just hung out with Voight in a bikini?" Jay put back to her as they walked down the street from having retrieved morning coffee from the shop around the corner.

Erin gave him a patronizing look. "Don't get all jealous, Jay," she said. "You've seen me in less than a bikini."

"I know," he allowed, taking a loud slurp out of his cup. "But see – I'd still stare at you if I got to see you in a bikini."

"Aww," she said and patted his shoulder. "You just make me feel all warm and fuzzy when you sexually objectify me."

He gave her a look. "What? You'd prefer me to think you look hideous in a bikini? No man who wants to keep his balls would ever say that to a woman's face."

"Oh," Erin said and shook her head. "You're right. Saying it behind our backs – much better."

He just shrugged. He could be such a man. He was a good guy – but in some ways he was still a dog. Likely because he knew he could have whoever he wanted whenever he wanted. He never had to try very hard to get a girl's attention. Thankfully, he wasn't a complete asshole player about that. Or thankfully his work didn't give him the time to be that way.

"OK," Jay said waving his hands to the point he nearly slopped his coffee on her. "Don't you think it's the least bit weird you just paraded around in a bikini with your boss?"

She gave him an annoyed look again. She was regretting she'd answered his question about what she did for the rest of the weekend. She should've kept it shorter and less detailed but she hadn't considered he'd turn this into some sort of weirded out rant.

"One," she said and held up a finger in his face, "I wasn't parading around. I went in the water. I came out of the water. I sat on a blanket. Two," she added more forcibly and wagged another finger inches from from his nose, "I wasn't with my 'boss'. I was with my family."

Jay rolled his eyes at her, and moved up the district steps to hold the door for her. Apparently he could be gentlemanly when he wanted to. "Yea, but your family happens to include your boss."

She cast him a look over her shoulder as she entered the building. "Did your mom ever see you in your bathing suit, Jay?"

He shrugged. "Sure. But I didn't then go and work for my mom."

She rolled her eyes as she mounted the steps to the secure entrance and placed her hand on the scanner, keying in her code until it buzzed open. She held the door for him that time.

"I'm pretty sure Hank – my legal guardian – and Voight, my boss, don't sit there and drool at my quite the way you're suggesting," she said as he moved passed her.

"Well, that just further proves there's something wrong with him," Jay muttered.

She shook her head and looked at the ceiling as she started clomping up the stairs behind him. "You're so perverted," she informed him.

He glanced back at her. "And you feel comfortable being in front of your brothers in … nothing?"

"I was in a bathing suit!" she protested. "And, Ethan hardly knows girls exist yet and Justin's _fiancée_ is eight months pregnant."

"Ah, yeah, exactly," Jay said and cast her look. "So he's looking at a future of stretch marks and saggy boobs and … whatever squeezing a baby out of …" he gestured at her crotch and made a disturbed face. Like sex could never be worth having ever again after you'd had a baby.

"You're awful," she informed him and pushed by him to go to her desk.

"He was looking," he called after her.

She just shook her head and ignored him. Not giving him the satisfaction of reacting again.

"OK, OK, Kiddies," Ruzek said, plowing through the bullpen and dropping the folders on her and Jay's desks. "Get them while they're hot."

Hank wandered out of his office giving her a bit of a disapproving look. He could arguably say she was late. But she'd been there earlier – after she'd gotten Ethan and Lexi off to day camp. And that had been a chore.

Lexi looked pretty much like she'd been sentenced to a death camp and Ethan was acting beyond shy and awkward around her. The look on Lexi's face when they'd actually gotten to camp and she took her up to the camp head to get her all established in her quasi-counselor role and she'd been handed a bright, florescent green tshirt indicating she was Jr. Counselor. Erin wasn't sure how long this situation was going to last.

She was pretty sure Lexi was going to be bailing by the end of the week – if not the end of the day. Not that her dad or mom would let her. Alvin had seemed near gleeful when she picked her up that morning – and Al didn't really do gleeful. But, seriously, he was near bouncing at the concept she'd actually be doing something with her summer and not being a groupie. Her mom too was so smiley about "your first real summer job". Lexi pretty much scowled from pickup to drop off. Erin was pretty sure her face was going to be even more sour by the time she went to retrieve her and Ethan at the end of camp.

But the point was that she'd been into work. Hank had seen her. Just after having to deal with a preteen and teenager at ungodly hours in the morning – she'd needed a coffee. Seriously – kids that age were worse than some of the criminals they dealt with sometimes. So fucking moody. Hank, though, likely felt she'd taken too long to get her coffee and was probably equally unimpressed that she'd returned with Jay. Because really Jay was the reason for the delay. They'd been talking and their walk back had been more of a stroll than a quick coffee trip sprint.

"Now that everyone's here we can go over what came in over the weekend," Hank said, keeping his eyes on her.

She cocked her head at him – clearly depicting her annoyance. "Is Olinsky here?" she put to him drily.

Alvin rolled out from his usual hiding spot. The guy blended into the background so well. It was scary. "I'm here," he provided.

Hank glanced in that direction and gave a little nod. "So the city had 12 shootings on the Fourth. Most of it the usual. Will end up in the hands of Gangs and Homicide. Ruzek, give us a rundown of the rest."

Adam sat forward at his desk, clearly way too eager to get given the responsibility to take the lead on the briefing. Ruzek loved any opportunity to be in charge. Or to talk. Sometimes he seemed like he never shut up. Or at still. So at least he was sitting in one place for the moment and had a reason for talking.

"OK," Ruzek said slapping his hands on the desk. "So we got some increased drug activity. To be expected. Narcs will deal with most of it," he said but flipped open his folder, so everyone else did too. Hank leaning against the door jam of his office and staring in concentration at his, seeming to take in every word on the pages. "We've got Chicago Med reporting three fatal ODs. But the interesting thing is that these kids all came in from parties in a similar area. Gonna have to wait until we get the reports back from the Medical Examiner and see if might be all the same batch?"

Hank gave a small nod. "Yea," he agreed. "Might have some sort of toxic cocktail in the mix. We know who's turf these kids were on?"

"Ah," Ruzek said and paged through the file. "I think it's the Cupids?"

"You think?" Voight put to him more sternly.

Ruzek looked frantically in the file. "Yea, I can call Narcotics and get that confirmed."

"Any ideas on who they had out dealing in that neighborhood? Or where they picked it up?"

"No," Ruzek admitted a little dejectedly.

Voight just nodded, though. That wasn't so much their area. Still Hank looked to Atwater. "You got some CIs out there?" He just nodded. "Ask a few questions," he instructed and look at the file again. "The hospital get any others who pulled through?"

"Ah," Ruzek stumbled. "They don't usually like releasing that kind of information."

Voight gave him daggers and shifted his eyes to Jay. "You're on that," he said. "We got some asshole handing out toxic poppers to kids, we need to figure out where it's coming from and get him off our streets quick. It's summer now, people. Got kids making easy targets. Not enough supervision. Too much free time. Money in their pockets. Ripe for stupid decisions. We don't want to have two months of kiddies dropping."

Everyone nodded and looked back at their files, Hank included. He licked at his finger and flipped the page. "OK, what else?" he muttered.

"Umm …" Ruzek said. "Well, we had reports of that bootlegged alcohol …"

Voight shook his head. "We got any evidence of it feeding into guns, gangs or drugs yet?"

"Not yet," Ruzek said. "But we did get some intelligence that indicated they were definitely selling it over the weekend. Definitely a couple of the seedier bars that took in big shipments."

Hank nodded. "So follow the money," he said, catching Ruzek's eyes. "Keep on it. After we see where that money is going, we'll move in on the big shots. I don't care about the runners. I want the Snake Head."

Ruzek gave a little nod and looked back to his file. "Ah, well," he said, flipping to a next page, "I thought this might be something."

Erin turned the page in her file and looked at the report for Narcotics. She skimmed the page. It didn't look that interesting to her. Dated profile of some dealer. Head shot. Arrests, charges, convictions. Nothing overly helpful. She didn't see what had piqued Ruzek's interest.

"So this guy, Anson Lee," Ruzek said and Erin heard Hank smack his lips at it. She glanced at him but he was giving a dead stare to Alvin who was looking at him just as morbidly slack-faced. She squinted at them and found Jay's eyes. He'd noticed the reaction and no verbal communication between the two man too. Everyone else still seemed absorbed in the file and Ruzek's rundown. "I guess he was a suspected King Pin but he sorta disappeared off the face of the Earth like five years ago. But Narcotics got some intelligence that he'd popped back up in the city over the weekend."

"Where?" Hank asked flatly.

"Ah … West Garfield," Ruzek said.

Erin felt – rather than saw – Hank bristle again. He lived in the Near West Side. Not exactly neighbors to where this guy had been spotted – but really anything that happened anywhere in the city, especially in neighborhoods bordering Hank's made him get bent out of shape.

"Just the one sighting of him?" Hank asked.

Ruzek shook his head. "They had two confirmed reports."

"Confirmed by who? CIs? UCs? Patrolmen?"

"CIs," Ruzek said.

Hank made a face and stared at the file. "We know who he was meeting with?"

"Could get that quick," Ruzek said.

"Why's Narcotics giving this to us?" Erin asked. It wasn't really directed at Ruzek but he answered anyways.

"Ah, I don't know," he said. "It was flagged for Intelligence if this guy showed up. But, anyway, I thought it looked kind of interesting."

Voight gave a little nod. "It is," he said.

Erin watched him carefully. She processed. The timeline. The location of the sighting. Hank's non-verbal tells.

Ruzek kept looking at him hopefully. He clearly wanted to be handed that file – not following the money of bootleggers and piecing together where it was going and what it was funding. Erin didn't know why not, though. It'd likely lead to guns or underground clubs. Either would be a decent case to work. But Ruzek liked guts and glory gigs. He seemed to sense this might be one of them. Erin didn't think that was what was going on, though.

"Alvin will look into it," Voight said flatly, casting Olinsky a look. "You've had some run-ins with Lee haven't you?"

"I have," he said flatly.

Erin wasn't buying it. But Hank just smacked again, eyeing Alvin as he silently turned and went back into his office. She watched. He left the door open. It was a clear signal to Alvin, who stood and followed him in, the door shutting.

She looked across to Jay, who raised an eyebrow at her. She just shook her head and shrugged. She didn't know. But she sort of thought she might. She didn't like what she was thinking, though.

Ruzek made a frustrated sound. "He didn't even let me get into the cigarettes and the hookers."

Dawson eyed him from his desk, finally glancing up from the file. He'd seemed uninterested in the rest. Erin wasn't even sure he'd completely noticed what happened – or if he'd be pretending to ignore it. That just made her feel even more unease, though.

"Let Vice deal with the hookers and the cigs," he said.

"OK, these are high-class escorts at some pretty big clubs," Ruzek said somewhat excitedly.

"Not our area," Dawson said and looked back to the rest of the reports that had been sent over to them over the weekend.

Ruzek gestured wildly at her and Jay. "Lindsay and Halstead got to go to a sex club," he protested.

Dawson glanced up at him. "And you can too," he deadpanned. "Just on the city's dime."

But Erin wasn't listening – she was looking back at Hank's door and trying to see through the slits of his blinds. Trying to read his body language or read his lips. To catch something of what was going on in there. Because she wondered what exactly Voight and Olinsky were talking about – planning – on the city's dime. She didn't think it was exactly work related.


	75. Firefighters

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Erin gave Ethan a smile as she pulled the car over to the curb and put it into the park, turning off the ignition and hence turning off the music that her little brother had blaring. He cast her a look.

"What?" she asked. "We're here."

He glanced out the window and examined the firehouse for a moment but then looked back to her.

"It's cool, right?" he put to her.

She shrugged. "If you say so."

He cocked his head at her. "She says they're going to be like the next Mumford and Sons," he added a bit more enthusiastically.

She raised her eyebrow at him. "Since when do you listen to Mumford and Sons?"

Ethan shrugged. "Lots of kids at school did."

She rolled her eyes. "You know, it's a good thing you got expelled. Get you out of that hipster hotbed."

He just gazed at her like he wasn't quite sure what she was saying. He likely wasn't. Ethan wasn't exactly trendy. Growing up with Hank now wasn't going to do anything to make him any more trendy either – or help him fit in.

"Lexi says they're doing some all-ages shows this summer. So I can go! Right?"

Erin just shrugged at him. "You'd have to ask your dad."

Ethan made an exasperated face at that. Hank had never been one to grant his kids going to concerts. Not that that had meant that her or Justin hadn't gone to concerts. They'd just found ways around getting Hank's permission. She wasn't about to instruct Ethan on how to do that yet.

"Why can't you have a boyfriend who does something cool?" he said. "Cops are boring."

She snorted at him. "Gee, thanks," she said.

Ethan just shrugged at her. "Jay's sort of cool," he allowed. "But he's still just a cop."

"Jay's not my boyfriend," Erin said and gave him a gentle swat at the head, pushing it in the direction of the door in the hopes he'd open it and get out.

Ethan had been rambling at her near non-stop since she'd picked him up. Lexi had declined a drive home – actually saying she was going to pick up a couple extra hours with the extended stay period at the camp. So she supposed the day hadn't gone as awful for her as she'd thought either. And, Erin was OK with not having to deliver her home. It meant that she wouldn't have to rush to get Ethan into his treatment on time.

She was a little glad for his motor mouth, though. It kept her somewhat distracted from the day at work. Something was up with Hank. That much was clear – and Alvin was in on it. Whenever she'd positioned herself to maybe get a couple seconds alone with him to ask what was up, Hank had given her a clear look that indicated she should back off. She hadn't pushed it yet. But she wanted to – especially with where her mind was going with it. It was making her almost want to go back to the condo that night and do some digging and research and pulling out some of her own copies of files. Really, though, the best person to ask would be Alvin. Not that Alvin would tell her anything either. Especially if Hank wasn't. Antonio might be able to. He was acting a little strange that day too. There seemed to be a bit of a 'hands off' vibe that was radiating from him – and like he was OK with that. That he didn't want to know or be involved. But that rubbed her the wrong way too. She hoped she could just corner Hank at home but she doubted it. It was pretty clear this wasn't going to be an area that was open for discussion and he didn't want her to know or be involved. But if Intelligence was involved – she thought she had a right to know. And so did everyone else on the team. Not that he was going to see it that way either. He'd demonstrated that other times. But that didn't make her feel any easier because she knew the kind of cases he'd done that with before – what and who they involved.

Still, Ethan being chatty had made made the time in the hospital go by faster too. And, he hadn't seemed as awkward, scared and uncomfortable while they were there. It also sounded like he was really happy to be back at camp after his previous week stuck in the hospital and the district and home. For someone who had hated the idea of camp, he sure seemed excited about it that afternoon. Erin actually kind of suspected some of that might be the start of a crush on Lexi, which was probably a circumstance that Hank hadn't foreseen. But that would be fun – broken head and broken heart all in one summer. At least for now they seemed to be getting along. Hopefully that would make the summer camp experience more tolerable for both of them. Though, it'd likely make any "bad" days Ethan had where Lexi was babysitting him at home a little awkward. But they could deal with that when they got to it.

Ethan actually seemed more adapt to be talking about what sports activities he'd gotten to do during the day. Sounded like kickball was the big event, which Ethan had admitted was completely lame but at least it was almost baseball. Sort of. And, more importantly, it sounded like he'd survived the activity pretty much unscathed. That was an improvement from the weekend.

Hank had relented in letting Ethan try out the bike Justin had gotten fixed up for him. She thought near everyone's hearts had stopped a couple times during that initial expedition. First, Ethan clearly had no concept of his blind spots in his field of vision yet and he'd plowed right into the Escalade – leaving a nice scratch and a little dent. Hank had been less than impressed but after giving him sort of barked lesson about him needing to scan constantly – and then standing in the street and yelling at him even more loudly every time a vehicle was anywhere in sight – he'd let him try again. That'd be fine. Ethan seemed to be having fun. But then he started goofing around. Trying to go faster and standing full up on the pedals and trying to figure out how to get his feet on the pegs – all the while Hank barking at him more in the road. It'd been a really relaxing Sunday afternoon. It pretty much made her want to go inside and pretend she didn't know them.

She was glad she stayed out though, because inevitably, Ethan lost his balance with his wobbly equilibrium those days, and he'd got sprawling on the concrete. He seemed completely undisturbed by it – despite the fact he had gravel and blood sticking to him by the time he got up. Ethan was pretty rough and tumble, though. And Hank didn't fuss about the actual fall. He just started pacing more in the street and at some points almost jogging to keep up when Ethan wobbled again. It reminded her of watching when Hank was trying to teach him how to ride without training wheels and keeping his hand on the seat. But it'd ultimately been her who'd gone inside to get some rubbing alcohol and bandaids to clean and over the scraps. Ethan had seemed pretty unimpressed with her stopping his fun and "babying him."

"You don't need to kiss it and make it better," he huffed at her.

She'd just gave him a dirty look. "Good. Because I'm not kissing anything bloody, gravelly and scrapped up."

He just huffed at her more and eventually whined at his dad in a way that got Hank to agree to let him ride a few blocks to the park. Though, again, Hank had stood in the street watching until Ethan had got there and he'd seen him abandon the bike on the grass to go and talk to some other kids. At least Hank seemed to get that Ethan needed to make some friends and had managed to come back in thehouse and leave him be. Though he'd mumbled about Ethan better know know he needed to come back and ask permission before he took off with those kids anywhere else.

"He has his phone," Erin had provided only for Hank to grab it off the desk.

"No he doesn't," he said.

Erin just shrugged. She didn't think Ethan would wander too far afield. He knew he was on a short leash even if he was starting to get some of his priviledges back and even if he was figuring out he was getting some leeway because he was "sick", even if he wasn't ready to admit he was "sick" yet.

"Why are we here anyways?" Ethan said gazing out the window.

Erin shrugged and pushed open her own door. "I want you to meet some people I know."

He looked across the car at her – not budging. "Since when do you hang out with firefighters?"

"Since when don't I hang out with firefighters?" she put back to him. He just made a face at her so she tapped the roof. "C'mon," she instructed.

He sighed heavily but got out of the car. She put her arm around his shoulder as they started to walk up but he pulled away – too cool to get her affections in public unless he was the one initiating them.

Erin glanced around the bay as they got inside and saw Kelly and the rest of the Squad sitting at their table playing cards. She wandered over with Ethan trailing behind her.

"Hey, Severide," she greeted.

He glanced up from his hand and a smile spread across his face, those eyes twinkling. He wasn't really her type – even though it'd been fun while it lasted. But she was a sucker for eyes and he definitely had them. He was an even worse player than Jay, though. He was a dog in a whole different way and a whole different level. He knew it too and thought it was excusable. Maybe that's why they really couldn't make a go. He was too self-absorbed in his own way. Inflated ego that was different than what you saw among the cops. Or at least the good ones.

"Lindsay," he nodded but was leaning back in his battered chair and looking passed her. "Who's this?"

Erin allowed him a small smile at that and reached to plop her hand on Ethan's head, screwing around his hat, which always pissed him off. He reached and madly adjusted it.

"This is my baby brother," she informed him.

"Kid brother," Ethan corrected sternly and gave her a look. "I'm not a baby."

She rolled her eyes a bit at Kelly and he just smirked, though he was eyeing Ethan.

"Hadn't mentioned you had a brother this little," he said.

"I'm just full of secrets," she said giving him a bit of a mischievous look. "You only got to learn so many."

It was Ethan who looked up at her at that and then his eyes slowly shifted to Severide, giving him a bit of a scowl. Not that Ethan's scowls were the least bit intimidating. She didn't think Kelly had even noticed. She could actually tell he was more looking at Ethan's scars and measuring that. He stayed out of firehouse gossip. She'd caught on to that much about him. It was possible that he didn't know who Ethan actually was or what had happened to him. Or maybe he had and he was just taking a look for himself.

She snapped her fingers at him, though, which earned a small chuckle from some of the other guys at the table. But staring at her brother wasn't an option. She'd kicked people's asses for less.

His eyes drifted back to her but she realized he was again looking passed her, his face changing. She turned to see Hank walking up to them, his hands shoved into his pockets and stopping several steps short of where they were. Ethan glanced too.

"Hi, Dad," Ethan muttered.

Erin saw Kelly's face crease even more with that greeting. She eyed Hank. She didn't know what he was thinking. They'd agreed that she would talk to the people at 51. That he'd stay away. That that was the best way to deal with it, if he wanted to have any chance getting what he hoped out of Chicago Fire. He was likely just about to blow it for them. They'd be finishing off treatment at the hospital and having to get a home care nurse to come over and help them figure out the injections until the three of them were comfortable with taking it over on their own. She thought it'd be a few years before Hank would let Ethan administer it himself, though. Though, she imagined her and him could pick it up and manage soon enough. It was just she wasn't sure either of them really wanted to be the ones having to shove needles into Ethan every day. But life was all about doing things you didn't particularly want to do most of the time.

Hank just nodded at his son, though, and then reached and pulled the kid's cap off, shoving it into his chest.

"Don't wear it inside," he said firmly.

Ethan gave him an innocent look. "It's a garage," he argued softly.

Hank didn't respond, though, he instead found Severide's eyes. "We're looking for Dawson and Casey," he put flatly.

Severide eyed him rocking somewhat defiantly in his chair. But Hank just kept eyes with him. Not budging.

"Likely upstairs," he finally provided. Hank pointed at a door and Kelly just shrugged.

That was all the permission Hank needed to move farther into the firehouse – if he even really felt he needed permission. He nudged Ethan's shoulder and then guided the kid toward the door. Erin let out a little sigh, sharing another look with Severide who looked at her somewhat questioning, and with a touch of warning too. But she just shrugged at them and followed the two guys.

"What are you doing?" she hissed at Hank as she got into the stairwell with him.

He glanced at her as he mounted the stairs. "I'm talking to Casey. You're talking to Dawson. Then we're all going to have a chat with the EMT."

"We agreed –" she started but Hank cast her a warning look.

She flared her nostrils. Whatever, she decided. This was his to fuck up. She could manage taking Ethan to three more weeks of treatment. She could figure out how to give him needles. They didn't need this. It was him who wanted it. So if he wanted to fuck it up by brow beating people who didn't hold him in very high regard – that was his business.

It was Hermann who spotted them first, though, when they invaded the 51st's kitchen, and he lit up on seeing Ethan.

"Ethan!" he greeted and nearly bolted from the couch. He had his arm around Ethan who looked rather uncomfortable with the attention. "Hey," Hermann called around to the rest of the firefighters loitering around. "It's Ethan. He's the star player on Luke's ball team."

"I haven't played yet," Ethan muttered.

Hermann just looked at him. "But you will!" he said enthusiastically. "How you feeling? How's he doing?" he finally gave some acknowledgement to them, casting them a brief look. "You look good," he added, looking down at Ethan again. "You coming back to practice this week?"

Ethan glanced back at Hank, who shrugged. "We'll see," he conceded.

"That's great!" Hermann said enthusiastically. "We're going to win us some games soon, right?"

Ethan just looked at him with skeptical eyes and searched to find Erin eyes, clearly pleading to be saved. But she was scanning the room and had spotted Gabby over at the serving counter, giving her an unimpressed look. This hadn't been part of the deal they'd worked out either. She'd said she'd bring Ethan around so she could meet him. She'd said they wouldn't have to deal with Voight. Now he was in their space.

"Casey around," Hank asked Hermann flatly.

"Ah, yeah," Hermann said pointing dismissively to the back exit. "His office. The dorms."

Hank nodded and started to tread in that direction, giving Erin a look as he did. But her eyes were deadest on Gabby, who was clearly fuming. She hoped the fuming was more at Voight than her.

Hermann guided Ethan over to the couch and the TV, though. He pointed at a spot beside Mouch, who was also looking a little uncomfortable with the whole situation.

"You know Mouch, right?" Hermann said. "Him and Trudy are an item." He pointed at the TV. "C'mon. We're watching the game."

Ethan glanced cautiously at the TV but as his eyes set on the baseball, he slowly lowered himself onto the couch between the two men. Hermann seemed gleeful about that and glanced over his shoulder, calling over into the kitchen.

"Hey! Dawson!" he hollered. "You wanna bring over some pretzels or popcorn or something." Gabby just glared at him and he sunk deeper into the couch. "Or not," he conceded.

Erin had a distinct feeling that any conversations any of them were going to be having over the next few minutes was going to be a whole lot of "or not".


	76. Push Through

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Matt Casey glanced up from paperwork as Voight loomed in the doorway of his private dorm.

"Get the hell out of my office," Casey said flatly and shifted his eyes back to his work effectively ignoring him. But Voight just adjusted his hands in his pocket, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet and not budging. Casey's eyes drifted to him again. "Who the hell let you in here?"

Voight shrugged at him. "Everyone," he provided. "No one."

"Get out," Casey ordered again.

Voight just stared at him. Unmoved. He knew at his heart Casey was a good man. A man who'd done a lot for his city and who felt that his morals and rules of justice were in the right place. But he was also a disrespectful son of a bitch as far as Voight was concerned. He understood where he was coming from. Yet, he also didn't. Oil and vinegar.

"Need a couple minutes of your time," Voight said.

Casey just shook his head and looked away. "Already got told your sob story."

"That so," Voight said with some flat disgust.

"Yeah," Casey spat, casting him angry eyes again. "And I'm not interested. I've told you before. I'm not in the Voight business. Never will be."

Voight just looked at him. It wasn't a glare. It was just an unrelenting stare. "See," he said, gesturing somewhat dismissively at him. "This has nothing to do with you. Right now, I'm just paying you a courtesy."

Casey let out an annoyed sound that was almost laugh, his eyes shooting to him like lightening bolts. "Ah, so we're back to this? You aren't asking me? You're telling me? Remember how that worked out last time?"

Voight's eyes did shift into a glare at that. He felt is own anger growing but forced himself to push it down. To not let the past get the better of him. All of that was water under the bridge now. Things had happened. They'd been dealt with. He'd moved on – as best he could. They all had. Accept maybe Casey, who didn't seem like he was ever going to drop a grudge. No matter the debts he'd repaid – or the fact he'd saved his fucking ass.

"There's nothing I need to ask you," Voight put firmly. "But I'm letting you know my family is going to be asking someone else. Here. And, I'd prefer they get to make an independent decision without your feelings about me coming into play."

Casey made an amused noise that bordered on disgust. "What you want me to feel sorry for you? For Fifty-One to suddenly see you as a victim?"

"No," Voight hissed.

"Right," Casey gestured at him. "It's your kid we're supposed to feel sorry for. Send in your errand girl to try to get some pity for him."

"No," Voight barked even more firmly and pointed a finger at him in anger. He had to force himself to let his arm drop. "My son doesn't need any fucking pity. People pitying him gives him reason to think he needs or deserves that. He doesn't. I expect as much out of him as I do out of any of my other kids."

"Your other kids?" Casey laughed. The hatred still dancing in his eyes. "You mean your other son? The drunk driver and convicted felony? Seems like the bar this kid has to live up to is pretty low."

Voight smacked his lips, puckering in his own distaste for this individual. His own anger that someone so dedicated to the city could be so blind to the work others did for the city too. To be so fucking dense about the way Chicago worked. About the relationship between Fire and cops. About boundaries and respect. More than once he wanted to beat this man senseless – and that had been long sense the whole Justin thing. It was the continued animosity. He was damn lucky he was in a relationship with Antonio's sister. Luckier he was the father of her child. Or else there'd have been moments he wasn't sure he would've ultimately restrained himself. There reached a point where retaliation was necessary and this guy definitely pushed the buttons to nudge him closer and closer to it.

"'You ever been to a spinal injury center – where a family watches their kid drag his feet gripping parallel bars, clinging to the fantasy he'll walk again one day. The day quits his job to care for him. Take a second mortgage out on the house top pay for it.' You remember that?" Casey just looked at him but Voight knew he did. He remembered every word just as eidetically as he did.

"Erin already had Gabby relay your whole little pity party," Casey said. "Heard the invitation loud and clear. Still not interested in joining in."

Voight's glare intensified. "Do you know what happened to him?"

Casey shrugged. "M.S.," he provided dismissively. "Lots of places you can get help with that. You don't need to be bringing him around here."

"NO," Voight barked. "Do you know WHAT HAPPENED to him?"

"See, I'm really not that interested in you – or your dysfunctional family," Casey said.

Voight's hand clenched into a fist, his face grimacing with his rage. His muscles were so tense that he struggled to relax his body, his hand. To set aside the urge to step into that glasses room and pummel him.

"I hadn't been in a spinal injury center," Voight hissed out. "But I have now. I went there – and I met that boy. I talked to that boy and I talked to his father. Man-to-man. My son, Justin, he went and saw that boy too. More than once. He has apologized."

"For leaving him paralyzed? Well that was big of him. That's pretty hard when he still has his legs – and I hear he's out of jail now too. Has been for about a year, hasn't he? What about Mike? Pretty sure he's still in a wheelchair. Hasn't finished high school. Pissing through a catheter."

Voight stared at him. "My family has a constant reminder with us about the implications of what Justin did." Casey let out another amused sound – like there wasn't any way he or his family – particularly Justin would ever understand. That they didn't feel any remorse for what they'd done. For how Justin screwed up and any screw ups that ensued after it – Voight's own and otherwise. That they'd all gotten off scott-free in the end. They hadn't. They'd been paying for it before they'd even paid for it – and now the toll was only adding up higher now.

"Have you ever been to a brain trauma center?" Voight hissed at him. "Have you watched families sit with their loved ones in vegetative states with fucking machines doing their breathing for them? Had them wake up and not just not remember what happened but not know who the fuck you are? To have to teach them to fucking breath again. To talk to eat. To talk. To fucking take a shit. To dress themselves. To tie their shoes. To have that fucking brain damage carry on with them for the rest of their fucking life. To maybe have that person visibly almost look like your loved one but for what's left on the inside, what's left in their head, to never be quite the same. You don't get back the person from before. It's not just a broken fucking body. It's someone different who at some point maybe gets to come home with you. You have to learn to like, get to know, to love and accept that kid again. Because even if they are able to get him up and walking and functioning again – it's not your boy they send home with you. It's not that kid anymore."

Casey just looked at him. For once he didn't have fucking anything to say. Voight shoved his hands back in his pockets, finally making some real eye contact with him.

"I don't cling to some sort of false fantasy about what my kid's future is going to look like. I'm just happy he's alive. That I got to bring him home," Voight put a bit more softly. "I didn't quit my job. But, yeah, I missed work. I had to take leave to take care of him. And, yeah, I took out a second mortgage on the house. And, you know what? Likely going to be having to figure out something like that again now because he's still fucked up. Now he's got a new level of fucked up for us to figure out how to cope with. But I don't want your fucking pity. Not for me. Not for my son. I don't even want your fucking sympathy. All I want is your acknowledgement that I paid you the courtesy of letting you know before I go downstairs and talk to your paramedics and see if any of them want a side gig that maybe will help out my boy just a bit and make this just a bit easier for him. He deserves that."

"Why should I care?" Casey put to him flatly.

Voight shrugged. "Maybe because I hear you're going to be a father soon –"

Casey's eyes flashed, his face changing again. "Leave that out of this," he spat with venom.

Voight held up a palm in a quiet offering, trying to calm him. "OK," he allowed. "You should care because my boy, Ethan, he's a really great guy."

Casey let out an amused sound again. "Somehow I remember you saying that about your other kid too."

Voight nodded. "But, Ethan, if you'd take two minutes and come down to the Mess, you'd see – he's special. He's the best my family has got to offer. He's going to do go things for this city – and you care about this city. So maybe that's why you should care just a tiny fucking bit about him and him pulling through right now."


	77. Lost Son

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Erin came down the steps and gazed at Hank. He was absorbed. So absorbed that he didn't seem to react at her arriving back on the main floor – and that said something considering what he was looking at.

A video file was playing on the screen of the computer. He had the volume low but she could still make it. In the video clip Hank was sprawled on his side on the floor of the same front room. He kept holding up his hand when he felt like the camera was coming in his direction. He'd never been on for camera. But he was mostly looking at Ethan, who looked about five in the video. He had a whole array of dinosaurs spread across the floor and was spewing endlessly about them while Hank attempted to play with him. The terms the little boy was using was almost scientific and they were just rolling off his tongue. There was nothing fractured about his reciting the facts. The only thing that was breaking them up a bit was an occasional voice coming from off screen. Camille. She'd occasionally ask Ethan a question or make a comment and off he'd go in a different direction of monologue. The camera would pan slightly to Hank to take in his amused reaction. He'd shake his head at the camera while smiling at his son and then again the hand would come up trying to get her to stop filming him and focus on Ethan.

"Put down your hand Hank," she ordered gently at one point and again he just glanced at her and immediately listened.

Erin moved a bit closer. The floor creaking ever so slightly. But it wasn't often that she got to see the family videos. She wasn't sure she'd ever seen Hank watching them since Camille had been done. He did his best to keep his grieving very private even though there were certain days and times and triggers where she could see his sadness about his loss – all their loss, really – bubble to the surface.

He glanced at her with the creak but just turned back to the screen. "He down?" he asked flatly.

Erin gave a little nod and stood next to his shoulder, looking at the screen. "He's pretty tired," she allowed.

Ethan was exhausted from the day. Back into day camp. On his new medications for a week now and them fully built up in his system and starting to take their toll. He was starting to look puffier and seem more lethargic. He was slightly more agitated and chatty too. 'Roid Rage the nurse had joked. But Erin wasn't sure how much of a joke it was. It was a strange dynamic to know exactly how to deal with. Exhausted but all this anxious energy pouring off him too. But it was all part of the course of getting him through the first month of dealing with this. Still, when she'd been the one sent up to make sure he'd honored lights out it wasn't much fun to deal with. She could see how tired he was but he was fighting it. He said his stomach was feeling upset at that point too. Even though he was technically down for the night she wouldn't be surprised if he was up having his seemingly evening puke in the next hour or so.

Still, Hank's head moved slightly in a small acknowledgement but he mostly seemed transfixed by the screen. "He was something, wasn't he?" he finally asked, casting her a small glance a this near hidden sad smile.

"Hank …" she sighed. She wanted to tell him that Ethan was still something. He still spouted off lots of random crap. But it was different. The kind of things he retained. It was less like he was this little sponge. This budding little scientist or egg head at least that they likely wouldn't have had a clue how to relate to. These days the way he memorized things and spouted them back it came across as more of an obsessive compulsive disorder. A nervous twitch. A defence mechanism to try to make himself remember and retain things. Order. Patterns. Little organization and things being placed just the right way. It was like he thought it made him seem more normal but it likely just made him stand out as a little odd to kids more so than he already did. Somewhere between Tourette's and Asperger's. But really it was just a shattered brain. Ethan at five wasn't Ethan at seven and it sure wasn't Ethan at twelve.

Hank's sad smile just turned thinner, sadder. He handed a photograph to her instead. He was cradling a small pile in his lap but seemingly stopped looking at them to watch the video instead.

"Remember that?" he asked.

She looked down at the picture and a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She was sitting next to Ethan on the bench of a picnic table in the town where Hank and Camille used to rent the cabin in the summer for a week or two – whatever Hank could manage to get off. It was likely the last summer she'd gone with them and probably the only summer where she'd been presented with a choice in the matter.

Ethan looked about three in the photo and he must've had enough time outside that summer that his blond hair looked near bleached sun-soaked white and he was so tanned even for a little boy. They both had ice cream cones in their hands. Big waffle cones. Ethan's cone was a mess. Dripping down the waffle and coating his hand and trailing down his arm. It was even worse on his face. He was covered. The chocolate was near ear-to-ear and dripping down off his chin. Erin was leaning toward him with her tongue hanging out like she was ready to lick some of the disaster off his face. Ethan was completely undisturbed by it grinning like a cheeky little monkey at the camera.

"That was a fun summer," she allowed.

It had been. She was glad she went. She remembered contemplating not going but she must've known in the back of her mind that it would likely be her last time. That Ethan was the perfect age for it. He was old enough that he was really taking in all the outdoors and little activities and treats they did. The laughing and the giggling. The fascination with the insects and the dirt and the fish. The splashing in the water and him jumping off the dock in the lifejacket that seemed bigger than him. Him nearly somersaulting out of the canoe when they had it out on the lake because he wanted to swim. The way Hank had grabbed him by the collar of the jacket and hauled him back in only to end up tipping them all in the water in the process. It was a set of good memories.

She wanted to tell him that he should consider taking Ethan up there for the camping and fishing trip that he seemed to so badly want to go on with his Dad. That maybe he should even see if he could rent a cabin for a weekend. If there was anything still available. But she knew that Hank likely wouldn't be able to manage that. Not when it was just July and he seemed to be going into that rabbit hole about Camille already. He wouldn't handle it well in August. It wouldn't be fun to be around at all. And, he'd know it too. She didn't think he'd be able to bring himself to go.

Lake Geneva had been something that had been his and Camille's. It was clearly a place they stole away to while they were still teenagers – then in tents and for bonfires and bush parties and some privacy away from the prying eyes of parents. She was sure they'd continued to go through college and definitely had turned it into a vacation spot before they'd had Justin. It'd then been their go-to holiday while they raise a family. Right up until the summer Camille died. The cabin had been booked. They would've been going for their holiday in a matter of weeks if the crash hadn't happened. Erin didn't think that it was a place that Hank would ever really want to go again. It had too many memories. It was probably too much a part of him and his relationship and his family. It was likely scared ground in a way to him.

He handed her another two photos without comment. They were from the same summer. In one they were at the tacky little mini golf. Hank and Camille had taken them every summer. It was likely capturing Ethan's first venture into mini golf, though. He was near cradled between Hank's legs, him stooping so far forward to try to help his little boy swing the putter and get the bright yellow ball to head through the obstacles. They both looked like they were in deep concentration about accomplishing the task. Everything was so serious with Hank – even a crappy mini golf.

The other was from a little petting zoo that wasn't far outside of town. They hadn't taken her and Justin to it when she'd been around. They were likely too old to have any interest in it. They probably were that time too. But Hank and Camille had clearly wanted to take Ethan. The farm had some ponies you could book a ride on too and lead them along a little path. That'd likely been the objective of the visit, though, Erin did remember it being fun feeding the goats with Ethan. He'd shrieked and giggled so much by the things nibbled greedily at his hands to get the feed. And she remembered Justin just throwing his whole cup of feed up in the air and it spraying everywhere and all the animals running frantically to nibble it up off the ground – not longer interested in any of the kids along the fences trying to feed them. Camille at chastised him. She was pretty sure Justin had gone and sat in the SUV after that, which was likely what he wanted to do in the first place. He would've definitely been at the age at that point that he really wasn't interested in the family vacations at Lake Geneva. He would've rather been allowed to stay home at a friend's house. It really wouldn't have mattered, though. Justin would've likely been 13 or 14 that summer. Even if Hank and Camille had been able to afford and schedule a more elaborate vacation Justin was at the age he would've pouted through it and ignored them no matter what.

The photo, though, was of the pony ride. It was again Ethan and Hank. Ethan sat up on the pony and Hank leading it. They both looked genuinely happy. It was likely a photo that Camille wanted. They had a near identical one of Hank with Justin on the pony. It was one of the few framed photos that Hank hadn't tucked away. It was still out in the house. Though, Erin suspected that maybe Camille had planned to get a double frame to have the photos of both the boys together in the same place. But for whatever reason that hadn't happened and the one of Hank and Ethan was still sitting in this bulking box of pictures that he suddenly seemed transfixed with.

"What are you doing Hank?" she sighed. It seemed like he was busy torturing himself. Not that looking at pictures and videos of his family should be torture but it some ways that's really the way it felt.

But he just shrugged. "Something Boden said today," he muttered. "That he'd met Camille."

Erin eyed the back of his head and he continued to shuffle through the pile. He let out a little snort of some amusement and handed her another picture. His mom had been a knitter and every Christmas she'd sent the kids sweaters. Something that Erin got included in after she joined the family. Only she never asked for sizing. She just guessed. And not very well. In the photo, her, Justin and Ethan were in the good awful sweaters. The kind of things that you'd never wear again but also just couldn't throw out. Erin was sure they were likely packed in a box somewhere in the basement growing mildew. All three of them looked completely miserable in the ill-fitting, itchy wool. Even Ethan who was little more than a baby was red faced and clearly wailing in protest. She really hoped that they'd taken another picture later where they managed to at least kind of smile to send to Mrs. Voight. She was a nice lady even if she hadn't been particularly crafty despite what she might've thought. At least Hank was able to laugh about it now – likely because it was so long ago and his mom was gone. Erin was sure at the time he'd been upset with them and provided a lecture about thought, effort, respect and gratitude.

"It was likely one of those City things," he provided. "I think it must've been when you got that merit award."

Erin rolled her eyes. "Hank, you and Boden have both been on the job along time. I'm sure you two crossed paths more than you have reason to remember. You aren't in the same circles."

He just made a noise and kept shuffling through the box. It took him a while to seemingly find what he was looking for. He stopped to gaze at pictures in the box for several moments before he flicked to the next. She saw pictures of Christmases and birthdays and Thanksgiving and graduations and sports games and summertime in the backyard and the park and playing in giant piles of snow. He finally seemed to find what he was looking for and handed her another three photos.

"You should have those," he said flatly and then looked away, returning the rest of the photos to the box and putting the lid back on it. It got set in his deep desk drawer, closed and locked. The key getting shoved back into his pocket.

She looked at the pictures. It was from the city merit ceremony that he seemed to be caught up on from whatever Boden had said to him. In the top photo it was just her and Camille. She was dressed in full blues. She looked rather serious but she could see her pride sneaking out too in a smile she was trying to hide in gazing at the camera. Camille wasn't hiding any pride at all. She was glowing and had her arm wrapped around Erin. It looked totally natural. Camille always was. And affectionate. She gave great hugs. Erin missed that about her. It'd taken her a long time to accept hugs from Camille but she was glad she had let that wall come down. It'd just been hard. Bunny hadn't hugged her much growing up. Erin wasn't really sure she wanted hugs from Bunny anyway. But to accept hugs – affection – from another woman. It'd taken time. Looking at Camille's happy face made her a little sad too. It wouldn't have been that long before her death either. The spring. The second photo was similar – just her and Voight. They both looked much more serious than her and Camille. The last was the group of them. The family. Ethan and Justin and Camille and Hank. All together. All present for her. And they looked natural. They looked like they belonged together. They looked functional. And, somehow it really hurt to look at.

"Hank, what are you doing?" she sighed, looking back to him.

He was clicking around on the computer again. Hank wasn't very technology savvy in a lot of ways. She didn't think he touched his home computer very often. He still just functioned on a desktop. There wasn't a laptop or a tablet in the house. He still hadn't returned Ethan's laptop to him. She wasn't sure if that was purposeful or if he'd just completely forgotten it existed since computers were so far removed from his home life.

"I think she filmed you getting it too," he muttered at her.

Erin let out another quiet sigh. "That's not what I mean," she said. "I mean …" she tried to find a way to broach it. "You seem to be thinking about Camille a lot lately."

He just shrugged at her. "Time of year."

"It's not," she countered.

She knew the times of year when Hank got sullen and moody – or at least more sullen and moodier than usual. They coincided with his father's death and Camille's death. They were still more than a month away from Camille's anniversary. For all the grieving he did privately, Hank did his damndest to keep the rest of it in check publicly. There were still periods where things had clearly stirred something in him. But even at Camille's anniversary he seemed to contain it to the few days around it. He didn't start weeks ahead of him – at least not in a way this visible.

He gave her a small glance and rose from his desk. "It's just the baby," he said and brushed by her, moving into the kitchen. "Ethan. Boden making the mention today."

She followed him and watched as he poured himself a whisky. He held out a glass as though to offer her one too but she shook her head in declination.

It'd ultimately been Hermann who'd hooked them up with a paramedic willing to help them. Not Brett. She'd seemed nervous about it. Erin got the sense since she was dating Roman. She likely had heard things about Voight. Or maybe Sean had outright heard and discouraged it. Seeing it as some sort of bribe or way to get caught up in something he just didn't want to get caught up in. Hermann was tight with the new paramedic, though. Jess? At least Erin thought that was her real name. Seemed like everyone kept referring to her as Chili. She'd been the one who'd reported back to Hermann in the first place that Ethan was sick and in the hospital anyway. He seemed pretty sympathetic to that. Maybe because he had kids too – and he did the job too, even if it was a different one than Voight. She didn't really know what his motivation was but she wasn't asking too many questions. That was Hank's problem. She was just happy that something was sorted out – sort of. And that Boden had sort of given his blessing to it. Though, warning that if they got a call while Ethan was there, he'd be stuck sitting there until they got back and that they'd have to figure out their own arrangements for when Chili wasn't on shift. Ethan wasn't going to be getting his treatment there on the days she wasn't there. He'd have to get it at home on those days. But this Jess kid didn't seem to mind that. They'd figure it out.

"I saw how you were at work today," she told him flatly.

He looked at her from the counter and took a slow sip of his drink. It clearly wasn't a topic that was open for discussion at home either.

"What's going on?" she asked again.

"Why don't you worry about your case files and let Alvin worry about his," Hank said.

She audibly sighed. "Hank, why was that file flagged for Intelligence?"

He shrugged at her. "Got a lotta things flagged to have us alerted."

"Anton Lee?" she said. "On paper he looks like a no one." He just shrugged and took another drink. She crossed her arms and stared at him. "You might be able to pull that with the rest of the team – but I'm seeing a lot of red flags, Hank."

He looked at her a smacked his lips, putting his glass back on the counter and spreading his arms to lean against it, taking up more space. "What red flags are those?" he said.

"Flagged to Intelligence for seemingly no reason. Some guy no one has seen for five years. The way you and Alvin were acting."

"To me it doesn't sound like you're seeing much," he said.

She glared at him. "He's not one of the names in Camille's case file," she put to him directly.

He reached and brought the glass back to his mouth, finishing off the rest of the drink and putting it down forcibly on the counter. He glared at her again.

She let out a breath and looked down. "I always assumed …," she flared her nostrils in trying to find the way to talk about this without talking about it. "You dealt with that."

He just smacked his lips at her again. His eyes drilling into her. There were no words. They didn't really need him.

"You disappeared for those 18 hours, Hank," she said more quietly. "That's the only time you were away from Ethan's bed besides her funeral. And you never said anything about where you went. What you were doing."

The glare continued. The wordless conversation. That they weren't going to talk about it. Ever. It wasn't something that she'd be privy to. She didn't know she needed to be. She knew the ultimatums Hank put in front of people. She didn't think Hank would've just run the killer of his wife out of town. The person responsible took a swim. She didn't doubt it. But she supposed it was about level of responsibility. Who the players were. Who'd planned. Who's ordered. Who'd pulled the actual trigger. How much did Hank blame each of those people. Which of them had been dealt with? Which ones had gone underground on their own accord? What leads were there and weren't there? What was in the file and what wasn't? How much did Hank know and not know?

If this guy was involved and Hank knew it? If he was stupid enough to come back to town after just five years and think Hank wouldn't find out? To do it now when Hank was looking for someone to hold responsible for Ethan? When it was so close to the anniversary of Camille's death? Or Ethan never being the same? Or Hank's family being shattered?

This Anton Lee had to be brain damaged too. If he was who Erin thought he might be. If she was reading Hank and Alvin's reactions correctly. If it was more than just the baby and Ethan and Boden that had Hank preoccupied with Camille that night.

"Just …" she let out a drawn out breath. "Don't fuck this up, Hank. Ethan needs you too much right now. And Henry when he gets here. IA is still watching you. You can't just … muscle through this and think no one is going to bat an eye. I'm not the only one who noticed today."

"Halstead," Hank grunted.

"Not just Jay," she said. "Antonio was trying to play blind. He's not. People are going to be watching. Asking questions. I … know you're … hurting right now. But if this guy is who I think he might be. If you have evidence that he's that person. Hand it over to Gangs. Let them deal with it. Let them close the case. He'll still go to jail."

"He'll have things to say," Hank gravelled and reached to pour another drink.

"So let him say them," she said. "He'll still be the guy who killed a cop's wife. If that's who he is to you. No one is going to listen to half of it. This is Chicago. It's funny how justice works in this city. You tell me that all the time. Let this run its course. Don't … do it your way."

Hank gazed at her but then quickly downed his second drink in one long gulp. "I'm going to see my son," he said, pushing past her again and back into the front room.

She sighed and let her head hang, leaning against the entrance of the kitchen and just trying to figure out how to deal with this. But saw she stood there she realized she didn't hear him mount the stairs, instead she heard the video on the computer start again. Ethan's bright, happy, youthful voice babbling away.

"Your son's upstairs," she whispered to just the floor and felt her eyes well at that.

She reached and wiped at them – not letting it go farther than the glassing. She wasn't sure Hank would ever be able to fully relate to the Ethan he had now. He'd help him. He'd do right by him. But he was likely going to spend the rest of his life remembering that smart-chatty-silly little boy who seemed to have so much promise. Wondering what that early reader and science sponge would've grown into rather than seeing all the possibilities that still existed for who and what Ethan was now. There would always be self-blame and self-loathing about the child he lost even if he physically got his child back.

She couldn't deal with it that night. She couldn't look at the past and the memories. She couldn't live in it. She couldn't have it all tumbling around her. Or think about the minefield Hank might be preparing to make them walk in. About what would happen if someone batted an eye and he got caught. That a blind eye wasn't laid.

What would happen to Ethan than? What would happen to any of them?

She couldn't do it.

She walked passed him, grabbing her coat from the hook at the front door. "I'm going out," she told him. She wasn't sure he heard. Or he cared.

But she needed out of there. She needed a drink of her own. Or four.


	78. Dozin'

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Erin found herself reaching out and brushing some of Ethan's saggy locks away from his face as he slept. He made a little sound and stirred slightly, rolling away from her examination of him in the dimly lit museum. The air mattress they were on squeaked as he fidgeted but didn't open his eyes and seemed to drift right back off again. So she just reached and adjusted the tangled blankets around him a bit better. They'd brought sleeping bags but he'd complained of being hot and clammy and had opted to unzip the bag and flop it over him so he could better air out his arms and stinky boy feet. Instead he'd tossed and turned enough in finding a comfortable position that the blanket was flailed just about everywhere but over him.

As she got it tucked around him a bit better – Hank would give her shit if he got a cold and even though Ethan didn't think it was cold in her, she was definitely finding the climate controlled gallery more than a little chilly and drafty – she felt herself being stared at. She looked across Ethan to the opposite side of the massive blow-up air mattress they'd been handed when they checked in. Jay was laying on his belly – propped up on his elbows – starring at her. As they met eyes he gave her a small smile, though there was something teasing about it. But that was Jay.

"You're good at the big sis thing," he told her.

She just snorted at him and tried to let herself settle back onto the mattress and find her own comfortable position. The mattress squeaked again. There was a whole lot of squeaking going on in the hall was people shifted in their sleep. The museum likely would've been better getting cots or just making people rough it on the floor or bring in sleeping pads or something. The air mattresses didn't seem like the smartest deal. She supposed they were lucky. It seemed like they were only issuing one air mattress per party. They were only three people. She wouldn't want to be a family of five trying to share the thing. Even four would be a little tight. The three of them had been enough to raise a commentary from Ethan about him not wanting to share a bed with his sister and then not wanting to share a bed with her and Jay and then ultimately deciding he wasn't going to let her and Jay sleep next to each other because that was even grosser than sleeping between them. He didn't want them be all like "having sex next to me."

She'd given him a possibly even more disgusting look than he was giving her. "You seriously think we will be having sex on an air mattress next to my baby brother in the middle of a museum filled with sleeping children and their families?"

He'd gazed at her like that could be a perfectly valid option that she'd actually entertain. Clearly twelve year old boys knew nothing about sex. Or they did. Maybe that's why the cut-off for this Dozin' With the Dinos sleepover was 12. Teenagers were likely too horny looking at all the artifacts in the dark corners of the museum? But Ethan's comment made her more feel like the firewalls at the boarding school had been good enough that the other boys weren't introducing him to the prevision on the internet and bombarding him with porn. Yet. They'd just beat him up, taught him that pharmaceuticals had street value and started him on weed and cigarettes. He wasn't as innocent as he could look. But he could be fucking naïve sometimes.

"So you admit it," was all he said to her.

"Admit what?" she said to him even more disgusted.

"You have sex," Ethan said so fucking matter-of-factly.

She rolled her eyes at him. "Eth, I'm 29 years old. I've had sex."

"No, with him," Ethan said and pointed at Jay, who'd been doing his best to keep out of the conversation completely.

At that point, he decided to completely remove himself from it – pointing off at nothing in particularly – and wandering away. "Ah … I think I'm going to just look at … that …"

She glared at her little brother. "That is none of your business," she put to him sternly.

He just squinted at her. "You said he's not your boyfriend so you probably shouldn't have sex," he informed her even more pointedly. "That's like leading him on."

She let out an annoyed laugh. "Since when are you such a relationship sexpert?" He just shrugged at her. "How about you mind your own business," she told him and swatted at the back of his head.

"Fine," Ethan said. "Then I don't want to sleep near you two being all kissy-face."

"Kissy face?" she put to him a little more amused than disgusted with him and he just shrugged and went back to spreading their crap over the largest space possible.

She actually thought she might've been more comfortable volunteering to sleep on the floor after that. And not because Ethan was being ridiculous. The air mattress was far from sleeping on a cloud – and that was coming from someone who'd had some pretty shitty sleeping arrangements in her lifetime.

She was almost surprised that Ethan had allowed Jay to come when she broached the topic. But she'd had the third ticket and Hank had beyond zero interest in participating. He'd told her to go and bond with Ethan. She thought she did enough bonding with Ethan. Daily. And, really, the thought of being alone with Ethan hyped up about dinosaurs for like 12 hours – her being the one he focused most of his commentary on – was going to be more than she could handle no matter how patient she made herself be with him. But she had still sort of thought that maybe Ethan would want and value that alone time with her. Apparently, though, spending time with Sue the Dinosaur was a much larger priority than her. So he really hadn't seemed too much care when she asked if she could bring "a friend" on his delayed birthday outing.

She supposed even more surprising was that Jay had agreed to come. Clearly he was lonely or bored with his social life. Not that a night at a museum filled with six to twelve year olds constituted a social life. It possibly constituted a ring of hell.

Erin was actually really glad Jay had come. For one, she'd assigned him to getting the giant mattress blown up. And waiting around and arguing with the other predominantly male figures left in the hall where the kids had claimed their spots arguing over a single air pump. It was a bit of a war zone. Or at least some of the Mr. Mom's and Scout Leaders sent into the thing seemed to be treating it that way. Jay seemed unimpressed but undeterred by it. She was pretty sure it'd been him who had organized some sort of system and queue to get them all through with it without there being some sort of riot in the fossil hall. There was enough of a riot going on as the kids jockeyed for sleeping spots by their favorite dinosaurs.

Ethan had given her death glares when they arrived and the entire perimeter around Sue was already staked out. There were like sixteen other dinosaurs in there. But apparently if they were not sleeping under the tyrannosaurus they shouldn't have even come. After some snarking back and forth, he'd finally settled on sleeping under some sort of duck-billed dinosaur. She kept calling it the duck-billed platypuses long lost cousin just to piss him off and it was definitely pissing him off.

That was OK. He punished her by rattling off an endless monologue about every single fossil in the entire museum – and making her watch the 3D dinosaur movie at both showings that night. Once was more than enough. Somehow she managed to pry him away so they could go on their behind-the-scenes tour of the museum. She hadn't been overly taken with that either. One – she dealt with another violence and death on a regular basis, she really didn't need the details of the entire mummification process nor did she need to get as up close and personal with a mummy as had been offered. Ethan had gone right up and given her vivid details about the smell. She was pretty sure he wanted to touch it. Thankfully the staff had drawn the line at that. Something they did get to touch were owl pellets, though. I.E. the crap that owls hork up containing all sorts of nastiness that they'd eaten – bones included. She wasn't squeamish about it. It again was just not something she'd ever felt the need to do and she wasn't nearly as fascinated with it as Ethan and Jay had seemed. She was seriously starting to think they weren't ever going to leave that station. Unsurprisingly it'd been the opportunity to hold a giant, hairy-legged spider that had pulled Ethan away from picking through the owl dung. Again, not a priority for her but Ethan had been glowing and she got some good pictures. Until Jay let his giant spider crawl on her shoulder when she wasn't looking and then it started to try to climb into her hair and she had to fight everything in her to keep herself from knocking that fucker (the spider, not Jay, though he likely deserved it too) on the floor and stomping it into it. They might've gotten kicked out of the event if she'd done that.

The only part of the tour that had been slightly awkward was when they'd gotten taken down into the basement to look at specimens. By whatever happenstance they ended up getting pushed into the group with the ichthyologist. That meant nothing to her – even though it likely should've - and when she managed to figure out it was just fish they were going to be getting to see, she'd again been less than excited. She definitely could've thought of other things she would've liked to see in the museum's archives that didn't amount to pickled fish in jars. Especially pickled fish that had been sitting in jars for about a hundred years. But it'd amounted to more grossness to gaze at – which was perfect for Ethan. He'd especially liked the fish brains in boxes. Because a brain in a box is much better than just a dead fish in a jar or a skeleton on display. High points for boys being disgusting.

She'd noticed though as their Fish Guy toured them around the dead fish storage archives that he was staring at Ethan. She was sort of used to that, though, and so was Ethan. He didn't seem too bothered by it in that instance. She wasn't Hank and hadn't demanded he not wear his hat indoors so he was partially covered and hidden in his usual ineffective scarring disguise. And he was a little hyped up and chatty – still in monologue mode. Ethan did know a bit about fish. At least fresh water fish. Some of the things he seemed to know were a little ridiculous. So she'd thought maybe the guy just was looking at him as some sort of budding ichthyologist. But then he started looking at her too.

At first she thought had it was just because he'd been getting a kick out of Ethan's weird knowledge and even more random questions and he'd likely realized she was the adult with him. Maybe he thought she was his mom. But then his glances started to get a little creepy – especially when he caught her glaring at him and he'd given her this smile. She was starting to think he was some overweight, fish weirdo who was trying to pick her up – and she wanted nothing to do with it.

When they group had been given some time to wander the area and look at the various dead things that had been left out for them to gaze at, he'd approached her. She'd been giving Ethan some space. He was over with Jay looking at these giant jars that looked like they were out of Dr. Frankenstein's lab. She supposed they have fish (Ethan later informed her it was a rock fish and some sort of eel) but they looked a whole lot like brains and body parts that would be pieced together to form the monster to her. But she sort of liked to have the break from Ethan's nervous chatter for a minute and she also sort of liked that he and Jay seemed to get along. Though, it actually made her a little sad that Ethan seemed to be more enthusiastically getting along with Jay than he had with his own brother the previous weekend. But she supposed Jay wasn't making comments about his health or trying to buy his forgiveness or affection – and he wasn't arguing with Hank and causing rising tensions in the house. Though, there'd still likely be rising tensions when Ethan spilled that Jay had joined them. Erin left that part out when she'd been packing up. Not that Hank had asked if she was giving his ticket to anyone else. He likely just expected her to eat the loss.

"That's your brother?" Kevin, the fish guy, asked as he came up to her when he'd found a break from an onslaught of questions from other kids and overly interested adults on his tour.

She'd given him a funny look. She was actually a little surprised he'd pinpointed that she was the older sister in the scenario. She was used to getting into situations where she was more assumed to be his mom or at least his aunt or something. The age gap was a bit much that most people didn't immediately jump to the possibility that they were siblings.

"Yea," she allowed, attempting to shutdown any conversation from the fish weirdo. But then sighed a bit. "Sorry, he was monopolizing the tour."

Ethan had likely been annoying the fuck out of some of the other families that got assigned that tour too. Though, they were likely annoyed anyway. It seemed like the larger groups – summer camps and Scouts – got charioted to some of the more interesting underground storage, archive and research areas while the smaller groups got clumped together and couriered off to things that most people wouldn't want to look at. Not that you'd know it based on the number of questions and commentary Ethan had been providing throughout. There'd been moments where it seemed like he was the weirdo fish guy – not weirdo fish guy. And possibly like he was the one running the tour. She'd had to hush him up several times. He'd looked at her with such innocent eyes, like he completely didn't realize how much he was motoring his mouth.

She was really hating that about the steroids in his initial treatment. He was so hyped up after the I.V. and then he was just agitated most of the day. He'd crazy out eventually but that seemed to be more from the sedatives than his body coming down from the nervous energy pulsing through him. She'd lost her temper with him a couple times that week when she'd been stuck with him in the evenings and he was near crawling up the walls. But they nurses kept assuring her that it'd been different when he was on the injections instead of this initial pulse treatment. And that the doctors would get him on some cocktail of anxiety and depression medication to deal with all this nervous ADHD that he was exhibiting too. They were starting to move into that realm anyway.

Hank had had Ethan in for his first sets of evaluations for the cognitive issues and the IEP and his athletic and physical therapy assessment. She'd wanted to go but he wouldn't let her – using her inability to book legitimate time off work as the excuse. She'd decided not to argue with him about it. She figured she'd more want to be at the results meeting and the meetings at the school to understand how they'd be managing his education than she needed to sit around while Ethan went through some more torture. Let Hank deal with that. He was better in that situation anyway. And he deserved a turn dealing with the restless, crazy kid they had on their hands that week. He'd been doing his best to stay out late every night with "work" – which she knew meant he was either avoiding coming home or "working" on that case file she wasn't supposed to know anything about so that meant he was out prowling around and talking to his CIs and connections and generally doing things she didn't want to know about. So she was a little pissed on at him on multiple levels. One –him not being around for Ethan. And two – that he seemed to still be pursuing this when she'd pretty much begged him not to.

"It's OK," Fish Guy told her. "He had some good questions. Must run in the family," he added and gave her a small smile. "Your Camille Voight's kids, arentcha?"

Erin had felt her face change with a bit of surprise at that. She wasn't used to getting recognized as Camille's family. Within CPD realm there were certain people in certain circles who knew what her relationship to the Voight family was – and then again, people who knew Hank generally knew about Camille. Even people who didn't know Hank personally had usually heard about what had happened. To some extent. It was kind of an infamous event at this point – and Hank was infamous enough as it was. But someone recognizing her specifically because of her relationship to Camille? That was really rare. She actually wasn't sure it'd happened before – and her face must've shown it.

"I worked with her," he added hastily. "Got this job a few years back. She was a real nice lady."

Erin allowed him a little smile. "She was," she agreed.

"Smart as a whip too," he added and jutted a thumb over at Ethan. "Like that one."

Erin let out a small laugh. "Ahh … I should likely get that in writing for his dad."

He gave her a thin smile. "How's your dad doing?"

"Good," Erin allowed with a shrug.

"He was a police officer, right? A detective?"

Erin nodded. "He's a sergeant now."

"Mmm …," he said with a little nod. "Well, I just wanted to say hi. Real good to see you guys. Him all grown up," he said and gazed over at Ethan again.

Erin gave him a little smile. "Yeah, he's having a real good time."

Kevin nodded and looked at where Ethan and Jay were, he gestured discretely again. "That one's yours, though, right? That's not Justin?"

She shook her head a little embarrassed that Jay was now being pinned to her by a virtual stranger. "Ah, yeah, that's Jay. My partner. Friend," she quickly corrected, realizing that work partner in the cop vernacular wasn't the conclusion most people jumped to when they heard that word.

But Kevin just nodded absently again and eyed another little boy nervously approaching him while a Tiger Mom near pressed him forward.

Kevin gave her another small glance. "She talked about you all all the time. Real glad you came out," he said and then gave a little nod of goodbye and inched toward the nervous kid to engage in a whispered and barely audible conversation.

After that they'd headed for the snack time. Erin insisted they go to the snack – even though Ethan insisted he wasn't a little kid who needed a snack time. But he'd completely turned up his nose at dinner. It was pizza and Caesar salad with cans of soda and water provided and the choice of a Jello cup or a pudding cup – both with gummy worms and whipped cream for dessert. What kid doesn't like that? Ethan. That's who.

She'd watched the way Jay was eyeing him as Ethan sat at their long table in the cafeteria picking all the toppings – including the cheese – off the pizza.

"I think you're missing the best parts there, Kid," Jay had told him as Ethan began to essentially shove a slice of dough with mucky tomato sauce into his mouth.

That just prompted Ethan to hold the clumped up pile of cheese at Jay – clutched in his greasy and already licked fingers. "You want it?"

"Ah … pass," Jay had said and gave her a look that was more mild disgust than amusement.

As for the Caesar salad – well they only had creamy dressing and that was wrong. He liked Dad's dressing Caesar vinaigrette dressing and if he couldn't have Dad's dressing than he just wanted Italian dressing. So, no, he wasn't going to touch it because it was wrong. And the dessert options? They'd gone and wrecked it by putting whipped cream on top. Erin had snatched his Jello cup from him, scraped the whipped cream off and plopped it back in front of him but he'd just glared at her and crossed his arms refusing to touch it. Even getting him to sip a Sprite – when she'd refused to let him have a Coke, not wanting him to get any more hyped up than he was – had been a chore.

He'd been so stubborn about food lately. They kept telling them that the steroids would make him starving. They weren't. If anything he was so nauseous all the time that getting him to even smell food was too much for him sometimes. And meant that he pretty much had zero interest in eating and seemingly no appetite. In Hank's absence that week in the evenings, it had again been her tasked with getting him to eat and every night it'd been a battle and then every night she got to listen to Hank at get about making sure Ethan ate. She'd snapped at him about being home and making sure of that himself – because he was his son and she was not his personal chef or babysitter.

Still, it worried her too. Another reason she wished that Hank would consider letting him try the medical marijuana. As much as she didn't like the idea of Ethan being on it – if it helped, it helped. And if it could help him with his nausea and appetite? If it could help him with some of the pain and calm him to sleep near his bedtime? Well, she that was really worth fucking trying. Even Chili had mentioned it that week after only dealing with Ethan a grand total for four days. But Hank was just as fucking stubborn as Ethan when he got his mind set on something and felt he'd made his decision. His dad was where he fucking got it from in the first place.

She thought, though, that maybe she'd be able to entice him with whatever they had out for snacks. It'd just been cookies, apples, oranges and granola bars, though and a few choices of beverages. He wasn't interested in any of it. The cookies were "just store bought" and he allegedly didn't like apples or oranges. Still, she'd grabbed one of each and a granola bar and shoved them in her pockets in case he did decide he was starving later. You weren't supposed to have any food in the exhibit halls and the couple restaurants – which weren't included in the evening's fees anyways – were already closed. So that was pretty much it as far as eating opportunities went until breakfast unless he whined enough about suddenly being starved that she was willing to raid a vending machine for him.

Hopefully what they served at breakfast would better suit his palette. The posted menu looked like it was pretty much going to be cereal, oatmeal, yogurt, fruit, toast, bagels and muffins. He'd likely turn up his nose at most of that but he generally tolerated most cereals. Really a lot of days it seemed like he was hungriest, and best able to stomach food, at breakfast. From Lexi's reports from day camp, it actually sounded like breakfast was pretty much the only meal he was truly eating in a day. He was hardly touching lunch and skipping snacks. He might go and munch on Doritos or a Freezie after camp between the district and the firehouse or if he hooked up with Holly to cruise around the neighborhood with the other kids before dinner – but then he'd barely touch whatever Erin was making him too. So basically the objective was to get food into him at breakfast. That was usually something Hank handled. So maybe that's why he ate then too. Ethan knew better than to argue with his dad. It was usually a losing battle. But the next morning it would be Erin who'd be trying to get him to ingest something before they left the museum.

It turned out, though, that even the little bit he'd eaten that night had been too much. He'd outright refused to attend the craft, games or science demonstration that were the options for the next period of the evening. Instead he'd browsed the gift shop and tried to con her into buying him more of the dinosaur trading cards that he'd decided he needed a whole set of. She didn't budge in her refusal to spend her money on that. He'd eventually relented and plopped some of his own money on the counter to buy a couple packs and then they'd sat on a bench in the lobby of the museum while he examined them until the next activity started – a flashlight scavenger hunt of the museum. Basically the highlight of the evening. All three of them were really excited about it. Jay was convinced that they'd be able to kick ass and win the oh so coveted prize of a Dozin' With the Dinos tshirt – because that was something that all three of them definitely really needed. And really, Erin kind of thought that getting to run around the Field Museum in the dark with flashlights was a bit of a prize in itself. Because who fucking cool was that? She actually felt really sorry for all the security guards and museum staff that had to try to supervise and control that chaos.

But they'd only found the first four items on the list when their scavenger hunt ground to a stop. Ethan had promised her – PROMISED – that he'd tell her if he was feeling nauseated, if he thought he needed to have his seemingly evening puke, that he was well enough to still handle coming to the sleepover. Well, he'd fibbed – whether he meant to or not. And, suddenly in the middle of the museum – in the dark – he was heaving on the floor.

It'd been another point that night she'd been really glad Jay was with her. She was perfectly capable of handling the situation herself but it'd been nice having a second set of hands. It'd been nice too that Jay hadn't even batted an eye about it. No comment. Nothing said to Ethan to make him feel bad or more embarrassed than he already was. Nothing to make it seem like Jay was shocked or disgusted by it. It was pretty much Erin had gone to find one of the loitering security guards and to get Ethan cleaned up. By the time she got back to the spot, Jay had already gotten some paper towels and mopped up most of the bile with bits of pizza dough and tomato sauce amidst some fizzy Sprite even before they'd gotten a janitor on site. He had no qualms about it.

They'd taken other to the EMT but after having him sit there for a while and giving him something to drink, after Erin had explained his medical situation, they'd been allowed to leave on their own accord. Ethan had insisted he was OK and he still wanted to do the sleepover. But just like most nights, after his nightly puke, he was starting to fade. They just went over and sat on their air mattress for a bit.

They missed the end of the scavenger hunt and didn't go to watch the little award ceremony or to hear the answers to some of the riddles and information gathering quest. They did go over to the little "camp story" period over in the Maori House with a variety of myths and legends – some of which did really border on ghost stories – and were really being performed by an excellent storyteller. The guy was really drawing in even the older kids and the adults. But not really Ethan. He was fading even more and leaning more and more against her as they sat on the floor. It was passed his bedtime as it was and he was definitely into the period were his body started to bomb out on him and demanded rest – but as usually he was trying to fight it and be more grown-up and independent than he actually was.

A lot of the parents with the littler kids started herding them toward their sleeping areas after the stories. But a lot of the bigger kids – most of whom seemed to be part of the larger groups – were heading to the movie theater to watch the Night At the Museum marathon that they'd be airing for the rest of the night. It was already 11 p.m. Two hours later than Hank usually let Ethan be up and later than the lights out he was used to at boarding school too. But he wanted to go. Erin didn't fight with him about it – but predictably he'd fallen asleep slouched against her before the credits rolled for the first movie. While they were setting up to play the second film, she'd managed to get him awake enough to near drag him back over to their sleeping spot. She actually thought Jay was going to offer to carry him with what a dead man walking Ethan looked like on their trek from the museum back to the Evolving Planet exhibit they were set up in. But they'd gotten there and she'd pulled off his shoes and socks, given up on trying to get him to crawl into the sleeping bag and unzipped the thing and put it around him instead. It was nearly 2 a.m. at the end of yet another never-ending week. She was ready to sleep too. She didn't think she'd barely said two words to Jay before she settled on her side of the air mattress and tried to find some shut-eye.

The shut-eye hadn't come, though, and she'd instead ended up tossing and turning and gazing at her brother. She'd thought Jay had been asleep – or at least laying really still. He didn't seem to be acknowledging the snores in the hall or the other squeaking mattresses or the occasional squeak, squeal or giggles coming from kids in the exhibit or the flickered flashlights of children pretending they were Jedi, other families calling it a night and giving up on the movie marathon that they could watch at home anytime they wanted, or who were trying to not step on anyone while they ushered a child to the bathroom.

"Wanna go somewhere and by all kissy-faced?" Jay whispered jokingly across the mattress to her after she realized he was staring at her and she was trying to ignore him. Or really trying to ignore the fact that she was acutely aware that he was examining her as a "big sister" and not just as her.

But the comment made a smile tug at the edge of her lips. She rolled back toward him and stared at him for a moment. She looked at Ethan. He was out. Really, really out. She brushed at his hair one more time and then crawled out of sleeping bag and started her own careful step around the trying to sleep families. It was several seconds later but she heard the weight on their air mattress shift and squeak again and she knew that Jay was getting up to follow her.


	79. Mammoth Discussions

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Erin picked up her phone as it vibrated on the table and looked at it absently. She stopped bobbing her peppermint teabag in her mug, though, and keyed in a reply.

"What's up?" Jay asked across the table from his slow sipping of a coffee. She didn't understand drinking coffee at 2 a.m. At least not when there wasn't a reason you needed to be awake and alert at 2 a.m. – but apparently he thought the stale, lukewarm was a better option than what else had been left sitting out in the cafeteria.

She glanced at him from keying in a response. "Olive was at the hospital with false labor. Hank was just letting me know."

"He knows how to text?" Jay put back to her flatly.

She rolled her eyes. But there was some truth to it – Hank didn't usually operate in texts. "He likely didn't want to risk waking anyone with the phone."

"Except you," Jay said.

She shrugged. "I'm awake."

She was starting to think that she probably just wasn't going to sleep. Might be the best route at this point. Sometimes no sleep was better than a little sleep. She was actually more curious about Hank still being up. He could operate on little to no sleep but he was also militant about people getting their rest. He gave her hell whenever he felt it looked like she'd been up all night. It was kind of ridiculous since Hank almost always looked like he'd been up all night. But he operated on a lot of double standards.

"So false labor? What's that mean? The new Voight gonna be here soon?"

"They sent her home so I don't think it will be tonight," she muttered.

"So basically he's letting you know nothing happened," Jay provided.

She gave him a look – but again he had a point. "He's anxious about it all."

"He's anxious about someone else having a baby?"

"He's anxious about his son having a baby and becoming a grandfather," she said with some tone.

"Pretty sure it's not Justin who's having the baby," Jay said.

She rolled her eyes again. "Whatever. Stop being difficult."

She didn't even know what they were doing in that moment. Basically avoiding lying on an uncomfortable mattress and not sleeping for hours. They didn't appear to be the only adults who were avoiding the sleeping arrangements. Several others were scattered around the cafeteria. Though, most seemed to be coming in shifts. She assumed they were likely with the groups and were rotating to make sure the kids weren't disturbing anyone who was actually trying to sleep or making sure they weren't making trouble in the movie theater.

Her and Jay were pretty much just sitting there. They hadn't even been talking. They'd both been pretty much nursing their drinks and staring at their phones. It wasn't like they had much to talk about in that public of environment anyway.

She supposed they could've talked about what they'd seen that night but they'd both been there. They didn't exactly need to go through it again and give each other the play-by-play. And, even the other options of conversation she'd take just sitting there. Jay usually took alone time opportunities to drill her about something. She just really didn't feel like it that night. Or at least not at that time of night when she knew Ethan would be up and raring to go again in about four or five hours. She still had to get through a few more hours of museum time before her birthday gift would be over and she could dump him on Hank for the rest of the weekend.

She had full intention of letting Hank be dad for the remainder of the weekend whether he liked it or not. She was going to go back to her place and have at least a night to herself. Maybe two. Some privacy. Some real sleep. Some avoidance of Ethan being needy or grouchy. And Hank being both too.

He'd gotten his night as his "social club", that she doubted he was even at. She really didn't want to think about where he might be or what he might be doing considering his absences all week. But maybe he wasn't doing anything too ill advised if he was texting her about Olive. Or maybe Justin had phoned him earlier in the evening and that derailed whatever it was that Hank had been planning that night.

"You think about it?" Jay asked.

She glanced up at him again and gave him an even more annoyed look. "I'm not having sex in the can, Jay," she said.

He balked at that. "Just what kind of horndog do you think I am?" She tilted her head at him. "Yea, I don't need to get laid so badly I'm doing to do it in some bathroom stall at a museum sleepover."

She shrugged. She wasn't entirely sure she believed him. She'd place bets on there being bathroom stall sex somewhere in Jay's past. But she couldn't judge too harshly. She'd put out for reasons she didn't want to admit with men she didn't want to ever think about in locations she wasn't proud of. Jay, though, wasn't on that list. Actually whatever it was that her and Jay had going was pretty mundane. The sex was great but they definitely weren't being that adventurous. She actually thought if this was what a relationship looked like in your late-20's, it was pretty boring. Or they were just boring. Though, she supposed they kind of had to be since they weren't actually in a relationship and whatever it was they were doing had to be kept on the down low – that really didn't feel that down low anymore. So why exactly was it that they weren't in a relationship?

"I meant, did you ever think about having kids?" he put to her.

She squinted at him. "You make it sound like I'm some old spinster at this point."

He shrugged. "Well, you did turn 29 on your birthday, didn't you?"

"Umm … yeah," she glared, "and I'm pretty sure menopause and shut-in cat lady doesn't start at twenty-nine."

"You do seem to get pretty excited when the fire house guys walk the dog to district," he provided drily.

"Pouch is a dog. Not a cat. And not mine," she pressed. Jay just shrugged at her. "And you're older than me."

"So," he made a face at her.

"So you should make it sound like 29 is old," Erin emphasized.

"I didn't say it's old," Jay put back to her. "I asked if you ever think about having kids."

She didn't like that question. At all. It seemed so fucking loaded in so many ways. A typical Jay grilling. One that she didn't really want to participate in at all. So she turned it around on him.

"Do you ever think about having kids?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Yeah, sure."

She gave him a surprised look. "You want kids?"

He shook his head hard at that. "No, I've thought about if I want to have kids," he said. "That's what you asked."

She rolled her eyes. He excelled at being difficult. She wasn't sure she had the patience for it that night. Not after a night of Ethan and dino babble.

"So you don't want kids?"

He shrugged. "I don't think so."

She just looked at him. "You know, just because you have … whatever your relationship with your father is—"

"I don't have a relationship with my father," he cut her off.

She gave him more serious eyes. They both knew that was exactly what she meant. They didn't need to argue for the wording to make it suit Jay's wants and needs in his continued avoidance of discussing whatever it was that happened in his family. His continued push to make her read between the lines and she'd done that and drawn her own conclusions. They were that his father was a busy, professional man who was distant from his sons and wife but that they kept up a good façade for those around them. Upper middle class. Maybe even upper class considering the private school Jay had gone to. Not that that meant much. Connections and potential counted for just as much as money at a lot of schools in the city. She knew that from her own experience with the Voights.

It was clear that Jay had been the more responsible for the brothers despite being the younger brother. Will was likely a bit smarter but less of a moral compass. She thought that Jay resented him somewhat because of that. Maybe not so much that Will did his own thing as his own thing reminded him of his father. She got the sense that his father had definitely been having an affair. She hadn't gotten a clear read on what the status of his parents' marriage was by the time his mother died. If they were still together or separated or divorced. But his father had clearly let his mother – and the whole family – down in every way conceivable in Jay's mind. He'd done something that Jay couldn't seem to forgive or forget or move passed. The only thing Erin could think of that wouldn't fit in Jay's paradigms would've been his father being in the arms of another woman while his mother was dying. Maybe that not being entirely known at the time but being revealed soon after when a serious relationship suddenly emerged and developed too quickly and explained even more about his father's failures to save his mother. Jay would see it was the ultimate betrayal. She was sure of that much.

"Just because you don't get a long with your father doesn't mean you wouldn't make a good one," she provided.

He just gave her those eyes. "And just because Bunny was a fuck-up as a mother doesn't mean you'd be one."

She snorted and looked away. But he'd pretty much hit the nail on the head.

Erin wasn't sure she'd ever really feel like she wanted to be a mother – not after her childhood. Sometimes it still felt like she was born into bad news and that bad news just kept on following her. Why would she want to do that to a child? And what did she know about giving a kid a normal childhood? Her childhood hadn't started to look slightly normal until she was 14 and even then it wasn't exactly normal. She might've been with a more normal family and a more stable and safer living situation but she still had all her baggage and scars from her first 14 years. She still had a lot of crap to go through before she was functional. She didn't really start to feel 'normal' until she was about 16 and even that was short lived when she realized that the normalcy was just a façade and that other people at school could see through it. She was always going to be a street kid. There'd always be that white trash quality to her. There was addiction and depression and poor morals and just the dark seedy under belly of city life built into her genes. There wasn't much point in passing any of that on. Of bringing another life into the world when what did she have to offer or give it? How much better than Bunny would she actually do?

She wanted to think she'd do better. She wasn't Bunny. But at the same time – eventually you became your parents. It seemed almost unavoidable no matter how much you fought it. Even evolving into some combination of Bunny and Hank didn't sound like the ideal living environment to offer a baby.

Then there was the selfish reasons not to have a kid too. She couldn't do her job with a kid. Fuck – even Hank would likely boot her off Intelligence if she had a baby at home. Think it was too dangerous. And being a lady cop in Chicago was hard enough. She knew if she didn't have her in with Hank she probably wouldn't be a detective yet. In the very least, she wouldn't be in a specialized unit. She didn't want to give up her work – her career, her life for a baby. She might lose herself if she couldn't do the job. She'd almost lost herself when she walked away from the job for those few weeks. And, she'd seen how much she hated other gigs when she'd tried out the Task Force. The job was her. It gave her her stability and sanity these days. She couldn't risk losing that. That wouldn't be fair to her or a kid.

"You do the big sister thing pretty well," Jay offered.

She allowed him a thin smile at that and gave a little shrug. Sometimes it felt like Ethan was penance. She'd fucked up with Teddy. Badly. She hadn't been a good big sister to him at all – and he was her half-brother. He was blood. And, sometimes it felt like she hadn't done that great of job with Justin either. She didn't help much when he went through his teen-aged asshole years. She didn't get on him enough about his drinking or his driving or some of his friends. She should've. And he'd gone to jail. She should've been there for him more too. Brow beat him. But she hadn't.

Ethan was a whole different story. Being there from when he was a baby. And almost losing him. It was a different dynamic. But there were days when she felt like she'd failed him too. She hadn't been the best big sister she could be because she was involved in her own life and career. Or because she took the hands off approach of acknowledging that he was Hank's child – not hers, not blood – and that his say was final. Maybe she should've fought Hank more on certain things. Broading school, treatment and monitoring approaches, how to deal with a brain injury. Just recognizing Ethan for the person he was now rather than that little boy he was then.

"He's easy," Erin told Jay.

He made an amused noise at that – one that clearly disagreed. "He hasn't seemed too easy any time I've gotten to hang around."

She just shrugged. Anything was easy after those months in the hospital after the crash. That was hard. Now – Ethan was just Ethan. Acknowledging that made it easier. It still demanded a lot of patience – which sometimes wasn't her strong point – but it was better than the stress of a little boy attached to machines in a hospital and the overriding fear that he'd be brain dead or paralyzed or never even wake up. And, all the decisions any of that would've entailed. Not that she would've gotten to make the decision. Hank would've. With a clarity and supposed detachment. But that was just another façade. She would've seen the fall-out. The fall-out would've looked even worse than Camille. Hank making the decision to pull the plug on his baby boy? She didn't even want to imagine what having to make that call would've done to the man. What he would've become. The loss of Camille had transformed him enough as it was.

"You mother him," Jay said.

She bobbed her teabag one more time and then pulled it out, lifting the cup to take a slow sip. "He doesn't have a mom anymore."

Jay just eyed her without response. She supposed he didn't have a mother anymore either. She wondered what his relationship with his mother was like. If he'd been close to her. He must've been. Though, she imagined that even when you aren't close to your mother you feel the loss when they die. But there seemed to be so much more to it than that with Jay. He was the youngest. That likely meant a lot too. A Mama's Boy? She likely was proud of him. Smart, handsome, athletic, joined the military, served the country, and now serving the city. Not that she had likely seen much of that.

"Why'd you come tonight, Jay?" she asked.

He gave a confused look. "You invited me."

She just returned a patronizing look to him. "To a kid's sleep over at the dinosaur museum?"

He shrugged. "It's been fun."

She gave him another look. "You cleaned up puke."

"I've cleaned up worse," he said flatly.

She allowed him a little smile. "I'm sure you could've found something more interesting to do tonight."

"Sit at the bar and drink. Sit at home and drink. Hang out with you. It seemed like the best option – even if I'm going to be accused of making kissy-faces by your little brother."

"You could've gone to Molly's with Ruzek and Burges," she said.

He gave her a disgruntled look. "And be the third wheel."

"I'm sure Atwater and Roman and Brett would've shown up."

He gave his head a shake. She knew that there'd been a fleeting moment between him and Sylvie Brett – and that he wasn't a huge fan of Roman at all. Spending time with them together seemed like a lethal combination with him. He just wasn't interested most of the time. She'd seen him leave the bar stool just to get away from the new couple. Erin thought it'd be a short-lived situation. Brett seemed too nice and Roman seemed to gruff. Either way, she was sort of happy that it was the other EMT who was taking care of Ethan because she always found it a little awkward around Brett too. Not that she really cared that the other woman clearly had been interested in Jay – but more that Brett seemed exceedingly awkward around her about it.

"I can't stand being around Ruzek and Burges right now," Jay muttered. "Ruzek's so fucking full of it. Second engagement in a year. And Burges says 'yes'? How fucking stupid is she?"

Erin just shrugged. She liked Kim. She acknowledged that she came from a completely different background and was a completely different kind of cop than her – but she was a good one. And Kim was a good person. As for the inner-office politics and romance? She wanted to stay out of it as best she could.

"They're never going to get married," Jay said. "He's all about the bachelor party and the fist bumping. He doesn't get what marriage actually is."

"Well, he's a child of divorce," Erin allowed.

"Then he should know better than to do that to someone he supposedly fucking cares about. Loves," Jay said forcibly.

She just looked at him. "OK," she allowed. She didn't know what more to say. There wasn't much point in arguing about it. Arguing morals and rights from wrongs with Jay was usually a losing battle.

Jay let out an angry sigh. She didn't think the anger was directed at her. She didn't even think it was specifically directed at Ruzek or Burges. They were just a reminder of his own issues and baggage. His own problems with his family and father and life.

He held marriage – and people – to such high standards, that she sometimes wondered if it was even feasible that they could ever be in a relationship. She didn't think she'd ever be able to live up to his standards. Not as a girlfriend. And definitely not as a wife or a mother. She was too stubborn and set in her own ways too. And she wasn't as bright and shiny as she thought Jay might need. Pure and innocent. Though, he knew that. He had a good understanding of what she was and wasn't. Sometimes and in some ways. And, sometimes it made her surprised that he hadn't yet runaway. That he still seemed interested. But maybe his interest was just because she was hard to get. Maybe he'd be like the dog that caught the car. He wouldn't know what to do with her if she did actually agree to giving this a real try. Letting it be more than sex and a shoulder to cry on and playdates at Dozin' With the Dinos.

He pulled a discarded scheduled over to him from down the table and gazed at it.

"You think he's going to want to get the special exhibit viewing or the lab tour before they kick us out in the morning?" Jay muttered at her.

She shrugged. "I don't know. Likely the mammoth thing."

"The wooly elephants," Jay said sarcastically. "There's a Viking exhibit. I'm going to convince him that's the one we want to do."

She snorted at that. She wasn't sure Vikings sounded that much more interesting than mammoths – and both were wooly in appearance as far as she was concerned.

"Good luck with that," she said.

He cast her eyes. "I can be very persuasive."

He could be. Or at least he thought he could be. But she thought she might not know what to do with him either if she actually had to let her walls come down – to be vulnerable enough to be in a real relationship. The scarier part, though, seemed to be the thought of what she might to without him – if he did get bored and left. Because she needed that shoulder to cry on and the support and the friendship – just as much, if not more, than some romantic relationship. The question was could the manage both and the job too? And that was a question and an answer that she was pretty scared to explore.


	80. Mom?

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Erin attempted to get back onto the air mattress as quietly as possible – trying not to disturb Ethan in the process. But the fucking thing still squeaked and creaked and sagged as she put her thin body weight against it and her baby brother stirred.

"Mom," he muttered, his eyelids fluttering just a bit, as he rolled toward her.

"No," she said quietly, breathing a quiet sigh of relief that Jay had decided to go take a leak before coming back to attempt to get some shut-eye. He didn't need to see or hear this song-and-dance that she knew she was about to go through with Eth. "It's Erin."

He made a little sound and squinted at her through the smallest slits in his eyes. "Where's Mom?"

She shook her head and stroked at his hair. "Not here, Eth," she told him gently.

"When's she coming?" he mumbled.

Erin let out a slow breath and shook her head again. "She's not," she told him again.

His eyes fluttered a bit and he gazed at her a bit more steadily but without comment.

This had upset Justin and Hank so much in the months after he woke up. The lack of closure Ethan had. The brain damage and its impact on his memory. In his sleep deprived brain it never seemed to quite stick that his mom was gone. That closure – her being dead, him hearing it told to him, the funeral, the cemetery, the headstone. He just didn't have it. Not in the immediate aftermath. And telling it to a brain damage little boy had only been confusing. Taking him to the graveyard in the months after and trying to let it set in that way had only been more confusing for him.

So for months and months and months, Ethan would be up in the middle of the night asking where his Mom was. When she was coming back. Erin suspected it was part of the reason Justin started disappearing. Going out all night. He wanted to avoid the conversation. Ethan staring at him in the middle of the night and crawling into his bed just wanting his mom but settling for his big brother. Only then Justin wasn't there to provide that anymore. He ran away – and drank himself until he was numb from it all. So instead Ethan wandered into his parents' room and put the line of questioning to Hank over and over and over again.

Erin was almost surprised Hank hadn't lost it with him. To have to go over it with Ethan every night while he struggled with his own loss. When he didn't quite want to verbalize that Camille was gone. It was always, "After what happened to your mother", "what we went through with your mother." It was never that Camille was dead. Never that she was gone. Never that she wasn't coming back. He always found some other way to say it – like maybe he thought in some strange way that maybe she was coming back too. Though, Hank wasn't that delusional or impractical. There were just some areas of his life he didn't verbalize. He was the same way when it came to talking about his father. He clammed up just as much about talking about certain other things in his past career and life in Gangs.

Hank had told her that Ethan had been doing it again lately. Up in the middle of the night and disoriented and confused. That he was asking for Camille again. Wondering where she was and when she'd be back. Even though he was old enough to understand now. He'd been told enough for it to set in. But sometimes his brain retained things – or didn't – in strange ways. Especially when he was under stress.

Erin didn't really have the heart to tell Hank that it hadn't ever really stopped. She couldn't tell him that while he was locked up in jail that it'd been her getting calls from the school in the middle of the night with them putting Ethan on the phone in tears confused about where he was and why and asking for his mom yet again. How do you manage talking down a barely ten-year-old like that? Hundreds of miles away? Who's brother and father are locked up and who hardly understands the how and why of that? Who's been sent away and is far from home and little and scared and confused?

She'd basically had to tell him to man up. To stop crying or the other boys would make fun of him. That he was old enough to not need his mom. But that was a lie. Ethan still needed his mom. Fuck – Justin still did too. But they all just had to make do with Hank. And he had to make do with the fractured family he had now too.

"She should've come," Ethan said flatly, like maybe he was awake enough now that his mind was registering where he was and where his mom really was. "She would've liked this."

Erin gave him a thin smile. "She would've liked this a lot," she agreed.

It was exactly the kind of thing that Camille would've taken Ethan to. He probably would've been to a Dozin' With the Dinos every year if his mom was still around. She likely would've had him to similar events at the planetarium and the aquarium too. She would've filled his mind with all the little scientific oddities. Turned him into a weird little egg-head oddball. But she would've loved having another nerd in the house rather than the rough and tumble jocks and macho men she got in Hank and Justin. Hank valued education but he wasn't one to ever go to a museum. A library but not a museum. Not now. He likely went with Camille. And to art galleries. He was slightly more sophisticated than his exterior let on. But a lot of that likely had to do with Camille rubbing off on him. Or that was the front he put up. Maybe her liking those things was more of a front that he could use as his excuse for participating in them. Maybe he'd learn to use Ethan as a front too to do some things that weren't sports, reading, working, and drinking and playing cards at his social club. It'd probably be good for him. Not that he'd admit that.

"I want to get my ear pierced," Ethan said rather abruptly and at such a mumble she thought he might be talking in his sleep.

She let out an amused sound. "Good luck convincing you dad of that one."

"Mom would get him to let me," Ethan provided.

"But Mom's not here," Erin told him again.

"So you'll convince him for me," Ethan muttered, his eyelids fluttering again in a way that almost confirmed that he wasn't quite participating in the conversation. He wasn't likely to remember they had it in the morning.

Erin laughed silently at him, though. "I think I've got other things I need to work at getting your dad to cave on before I make that one any kind of priority."

"No, you hafta," Ethan mumbled some more.

"That so?" Erin posed sarcastically, but reached and rubbed at his back a bit, trying to get him to settle and hush back down. The conversation was going too long. She'd prefer it to be over before Jay got back or before he woke up some other family sleeping nearby and she had some parent giving her dirty looks.

"Yea, Mom says," he said so matter-of-factly.

"Eth, if you're going to start talking nonsense again, we're going to have to take you back over to the hospital," she said firmly. But really she reached for his one eyelid and wedged it open slightly, trying to make out in the dim light if his eyes had gone all dilated and glass again. If he was having another episode. Another flair up and swelling when the drugs were supposed to be calming all that.

"It's not nonsense," he said a tad defensively and pulled away from her prying fingers. "She says."

"Ethan…" Erin sighed.

"She says you came to our family for a reason. That the universe knew. It knew she wouldn't get to be there always. So you have to be."

Erin gave him a little frown and moved to stroke at his hair. The fuckin' kid was always pulling at her heartstrings. From the day he was born.

"I'm trying, Eth," she whispered at him. "Go to sleep."

Someone should sleep. And, he'd likely just confirmed that now she wouldn't be.


	81. Need to Sleep

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

"Yeah," Hank rasped into the phone. "Yeah. … You just make sure she gets some shuteye. … Yeah. OK. … Update me in the morning."

He let the phone come away from his ear, contemplating at the timer. A lot said for a two minute call where he'd contributed less than twenty words. He shoved the damn thing into his pocket and dipped in his lawn chair, reaching to pick up his paper cup coffee off the concrete floor.

He settled further back into the chair as he took a long sip of the brew. It needed a shot of bourbon in it. But they weren't drinking. Not that night. They were mostly sitting in silence. So he went back to staring ahead into the dim light of the industrial warehouse at the docks that had become his own private lair over the course of the past decade or so. Memories. Not many good ones.

"Things alright?" Alvin asked flatly.

Hank initially just grunted. He wasn't going to say more but then provided, "They're back on base now. Home."

Alvin gave a little nod. "That's good," he allowed.

"Yea," Hank said. "For all the good it will do. Doubt she'll be doing much sleeping."

"Expecting the kid to show up soon then?"

Hank shrugged. "Hell if I know. They come when they wanna come as far as I can tell."

Alvin made a little sound in agreement. "Meredith had that false labor shit too. Braxton Hicks?"

"Hmm," Hank allowed. "Camille too. With Ethan. Not Justin. Little fuck ended up coming early anyways and scaring the shit out of us after screwing us around with Braxton Hicks the whole fucking pregnancy."

"I remember," Alvin said flatly and took a slow sip out of his own coffee. He had a flask in his pocket that had been emptied into it. "We going to roll out?"

Hank gave him a glance and shrugged. That'd been the plan. They were going to check out what was what. Do some work off the books. Maybe do a little more than work depending on how far they got with checking things out that night. Mop up this mess quickly. Not quickly enough. Should've been mopped up five years ago. But then Justin had called.

Somehow it seemed appropriate that he be out dealing with his on the night his grandson could potentially be arriving. But in other ways it didn't. Not when shit like false labor was being said. Not when he remembered how quickly things had gone from a Sunday afternoon to the lifeblood of Camille and the baby rushing out of her. Not that he'd be able to do shit all for Justin or Olive if something like that happened to them. Not from fucking Chicago. But at least he'd be available to answer the phone. For now.

Didn't seem like Anton Lee was going anywhere anyways. Two sightings had turned into five – had turned into more and more bits of intelligence coming in. The guy was as stupid as fuck to think he could just surface back in Chicago. That things were all said and done. Forgotten. Hank hadn't forget. He didn't forget. He remembered everything. And right then he had some pretty stark fucking reminders in front of him about exactly what role Anton Lee had played in shaping the lives of his family. Death was too kind for this guy. He'd put his kids through far worse than that.

"You gonna go out there for a few days?" Alvin asked instead.

Hank stared into his steaming cup. Alvin – always with the thermos. Meredith likely fucking sent it with him. He'd probably told her they were going out on some stakeout. Some short-term undercover operation. That he'd be back in the morning. She'd probably acted like she bought into it. But she wouldn't have believed a word of it. She just knew better than to ask. They were in a good spot right now. Some times that spot stayed sweet when fewer questions were asked. Cops' wives – U.C. officers – they didn't ask questions. They start asking questions and you both start treading toward divorce. It was a case of the less you know the better. A double life. You can't let your family see that side of you.

"Maybe after the baby gets here. Give them a few weeks to get settled."

A little nod from Alvin again. "That will be good. Take Ethan with you?"

"Yeah," he allowed.

Another nod. "Lexi said he did good this week," he muttered.

"Yea. He's doing all right," Hank said.

It was a bit of a lie. Magoo wasn't bad but he wasn't great. Wired as fuck. Rangy. Emotions all over the place. Anger and held-back tears. Not eating and puking. Pale and flushed at the same time. And fucking shaking all the time like a mouth-fucker. But apparently that had more to do with agitation and nervous energy from the steroids than any sort of neurological issue. Better fucking be right.

Fucking doctors. Fucking testing. Sat through another day of it as they assessed his boy so he could get the IEP going. Get him into whatever athletic and physical therapy that his insurance would pay for – and likely wasn't going to pay for. So he'd just have to make that money come from somewhere else. Some of Anton Lee's little foot soldiers seemed like a reasonable place to get the start of that money flowing.

At least things were starting to get sorted. A bit. Could start to work on getting things to fall into place with the school now too.

Too bad getting things to fall into place with Ethan seeming like a normal, functioning human being weren't quite as easy. It was a fucking weird and aggravating kid to be around. It wasn't like being around Erin or Justin. They pissed him off. Ethan just broke it heart and picked at his patience and nerves. It was fucking exhausting. He wasn't used to having a kid at home like that anymore. Wasn't used to having to do it himself. To have to be there. To not be able to just bury himself in work. To make the kid the fucking overriding priority – always. It was running him ragged too.

But he just scrubbed at his face and glanced at his watch. He moved and hauled himself out of the chair.

"They'll be rolling back in in a few hours," he stated.

Alvin gave his watch a glance. It was a bit of a half-truth. It was three-ish. Erin likely wouldn't have Magoo home until around ten. But, still. Should be there. Should look human when they pulled up too.

He started to trudge for the exit. "Want a lift?" Alvin asked. Hank glanced over his shoulder to see Al nodding off in the direction of the parked car. The wagon with the nice big trunk that'd fit even the biggest dirtbag.

"Nah," he said. "Car's in the usual spot."

He kept walking.

"We still going to do this?" Alvin asked.

"Yeah," Hank allowed with a shrug.

"I need to be able to sleep at night, man," Olinsky provided.

Hank gave a little nod, pursing his lips. "You will," he said.

Lee was going to get exactly what he had coming to him. No reason that any of them shouldn't be sleeping like a baby when this was all said and done.

Maybe Voight would be able to get his kid to sleep like a baby after this fucking ghost was exorcized too.

Maybe they all would. After five years.


	82. One-Way Conservations

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Hank let the ball slap into his glove but as he snagged it, he also let his arm fall to his side and treaded over to where he and Ethan had dropped their crap when they'd set up on the vacant diamond. He'd seen the wince on his boy's face when he'd tossed the ball. He'd actually been watching it for the past twenty minutes but it'd definitely settled into more of a grimace the past few pitches. It was time to take a break.

Hank sat on the visitor's bench, yanking the glove off his hand and reaching for the bottle of water, cracking the cap and taking a long gulp as Ethan trotted over and sat down a few feet from him. He held on the bottle and the kid took it, taking a long tug on it too. Voight reached and hauling up the side of his son's shirt and looking at the bandaging he'd wrapped the kid's ribs in.

"You need them tightened up?" he asked.

Ethan just shrugged at him, so Hank left it, letting the tshirt fall back into place, even though he figured doing a rewrap likely wouldn't hurt. He wasn't sure how much more catch Magoo would want to do anyway. He was sweating bullets in the heat and Hank thought at this point he should likely be beat.

Erin sure as fuck was. She'd deposited Eth at home with a vague comment about having slept in crack houses that were more comfortable and disappeared upstairs. She'd made it sound like she'd be bolting for a day to herself but she hadn't hauled herself out of bed by the time he was having to haul Ethan off for his daily treatment. For once the kid hadn't acted like an agitated animal in the chair at the place. He'd actually slept through it. Let Hank sit there and read in peace. Likely a good sign that the museum thing had worn him out. Though, he'd seemed raring to go by the time they were leaving and the 'roids were starting to pulse through his system.

He'd hoped tossing the ball around with the kid would get him to wind down again. Get a bit of downtime that afternoon. But it wasn't looking like it. Magoo could toss the ball around all day, if he was allowed. Hank supposed he could too. There was something oddly medative about the pitch and slap of the leather. Over and over. Not a bad way to let out some aggression. Though hitting something would likely be better.

"Want me to lob you some pitches?" Hank offered.

Another fucking shrug. "The pop still kinda hurts," Ethan muttered.

Voight allowed a little nod at that. "Want me to hit some out to you?"

Ethan eyed him a bit. There was a registered interest but then he shrugged. Maybe he was hurting more than he was letting on. His boy was actually pretty good at putting up fronts and sucking it up. Voight didn't like his kid hurting. But he was also proud that his boy wasn't some fucking sissy about it. Not a crybaby. Dealt with this shit the best he could. But that was the way he was brought up.

"Can I go to baseball this week?" Ethan asked instead quietly.

Hank let out a quiet sigh at that and reached to take the water back, taking another slow drink.

"We'll see," he allowed.

Ethan squinted at him. It wasn't the answer he wanted to hear. But it was the best he was going to get. Voight wasn't quite sure Magoo was ready to be back in his cleats yet – no matter what the kid thought.

"You know Iggy only lets Upper School kids play?"

Hank glanced at him and it was his turn to give him a shrug. "So?"

"So what am I supposed to do if they aren't going to let me play?"

Hank eyed him. "You should be thinking about how you're going to manage your Three Rs, not your batting average."

Ethan huffed at him. "They only have stupid sports," he said with disgruntedly.

"How you know that?"

"'Cuz I looked at their website," he said.

"And, how'd you manage that?"

"On my phone," Ethan said flatly and then gave him a bit of a look. "When do I get my computer back?"

Voight shrugged. "You don't have any need for a computer right now."

"Dad, the whole world has a need for a computer right now," Ethan hissed.

"September," Hank said. "When you've got homework."

"Haven't I done good enough to get it back yet?" the kid pressed.

Voight looked at him more sternly. "You don't fucking need a computer, right now. It's summer. You aren't going to be sitting around screwing around on the damn thing your whole holidays."

"But you won't let me play baseball. So what am I supposed to do?" he demanded.

Hank gestured at the field. "We're playing baseball."

"I don't want to play with you," Eth muttered.

Hank just grunted at that. But it about summed it up. In a lot of ways he'd never really been the one Ethan wanted much to do with. A mama's boy. And then attached to his big sister. Less intimidated by his big brother. Guess Hank hadn't glad-handed him enough when he was a baby or something.

But he must've let his reaction to the statement be slightly more visible than he meant it to be because Ethan eyed him and then said a bit more quietly, "I didn't mean it that way."

Voight just shrugged and took another sip of the water. Wasn't worth talking about. Kids said lots of stupid shit. He'd heard worse from Justin and Erin in their teens. Hell, Ethan had already told him he hated him in the past. He took it with a grain of salt. Your kids weren't supposed to like you much anyway. You were their dad –not their best buddy. Erin had told him more than once that was tough talk she didn't buy. Clearly kids saw through you eventually in ways you didn't want either. But Ethan was likely still too young for that.

"J and Erin say I gotta tell you that I love you more," he sputtered out awkwardly, though.

Hank let out an amused noise and gave him a look. "That so?"

Ethan gave a reluctant nod. "They say it's my job since I'm home now and since you don't have mom to tell you."

Voight let out a little snort at that. Maybe he shouldn't be encouraging Justin and Erin to be bonding with their brother. To be taking some fucking responsibility in the family and helping work all this shit out. Because it sure sounded like they were filling his head with bullshit.

"Did Mom tell you she loved you lots, Dad?" Ethan asked.

Hank gave him a patronizing look. He didn't have the time for this today. He had other things on his mind to be rehashing this with his youngest.

"Don't ask stupid questions," he rasped and took another drink.

Magoo just blinked at him, though. "Did you say it to her?"

Hank glared at him for a moment. He thought about barking at him again about the idiocy of those kinds of statements. What the fuck did he think? That he neglected to let Camille know how much he cared about her? How much she meant to him? That she was his best friend? His fucking rock? The mother to his children? The only support network he needed to make all the rest of the bullshit fade into the background. Of course, he loved her. She knew that.

"Every day," Hank muttered and gazed out at the field. This neighborhood seemed to be dying more than thriving some days. Why weren't kids out in this diamond on a fucking sunny Saturday afternoon?

"You don't say it to us every day," Ethan said flatly.

Hank eyed him again – slightly unimpressed. "You need to hear it every day?"

Ethan just looked at him a little hurt. "You hardly say it ever."

His glare at his son thickened. "You think I'd do half the shit I do for you if I didn't love you?"

"You always say you do it because we're your kids," Ethan said.

"Yeah," Hank spat out at him. "You're my kids – and I love you."

Ethan looked at him like he had to absorb that. Like he really had to process it. Maybe the kid really was having a fucking off day. Too much excitement. Not enough sleep. Too many fucking drugs in his system.

"How come you always have to be so scary all the time?" Ethan put back to him a little timidly.

Hank let out another annoyed sound at that. These fucking drugs they had his boy on. They had his emotions so all over the place. It was fucking worse than dealing with a teenaged girl. It was like maniac highs and crashing lows. Anger followed by tears. One second he was a fucking annoying little kid wanting hugs and comfort and then the next he was a defiant, raging, disrespectful teenager. It was taking a lot to maintain his patience with it. To remind himself that it was just the drugs. That it'd hopefully level out after they got him off the steroids. That this wasn't the brain injury. It wasn't permanent. It was just something they fucking needed to get through. He just had to keep from blowing up at his kid in the process.

"You think I'm scary?" he put back to his boy sarcastically.

He'd given Magoo hugs more times than he could count the past week. Most of them on Ethan's initiation. He'd fucking read to him. He'd watched fucking baseball games with him. Made him breakfast. Gotten him off to camp. Talked to him like a human being and not a little shit even when he was acting like one. Thing was no matter how fucking tough he was with his kids – he didn't scare any of them. And the bigger reality was that as he went through each of them he was even less scary because they had the older ones telling them he was more bark than bite. At least with them. They were fucking lucky.

Ethan just shrugged at him, though. "Lots of people think you're scary."

"Who thinks I'm scary?" Hank pressed.

Ethan eyed him. "Mouse."

Hank snorted at that and shook his head. "Mouse is scared of his own shadow."

"No, he's not," Ethan said. "He was a solider. Like Justin. They sent him to Afghanistan."

"You having lots of heart-to-hearts with Mouse lately?"

Ethan shrugged. "He doesn't like talking to me because I'm your kid. Lots of people don't like talking to me because I'm your kid and they're scared of you."

"Like who?"

"Kids at ball," Ethan provided.

"Then I guess it's a good thing you aren't playing ball right now," Hank said.

Ethan sighed and kicked around the gravel in the dugout. "Have I at least been good enough to get to go to the Cubs game next weekend?"

Hank grunted and cast him a look. He'd forgotten that the game was next weekend. But hadn't exactly circled it on the calendar. That was going to tie him up from taking care of the other things he wanted to get taken care of. Then with his luck the baby would arrive after that and he'd be having to put some of his focus there. Not that his preoccupation had to be contained to weekends. Just was easier that way. Erin was getting so fucking bent out of shape about having to watch Magoo on weeknights. What she think? That she was getting room and board for free? She was home. She was going to take care of her brother.

"How you think you been doing?" Hank put to him.

Ethan examined him in silence – like it was some kind of admission of guilt. "Good," he offered cautiously.

"Mmm …" Hank grunted. "Saw clothes on the floor in your room."

Ethan let out a deflated breath. "But that was just this morning. I was just tired when I got home. It was just last night's stuff. I can pick it up."

"Why didn't it go in the hamper in the first place?" Hank put to him.

Ethan shrugged and examined the ground.

"Why's the hamper not down in the basement? Clothes sorted? Laundry started?"

"I was tired, Dad," he whined quietly.

"Mmm…" Hank nodded.

He wasn't going to argue that. Erin had managed to form enough sentences that he got that it'd been a busy night. Ethan did his usual puke show. He'd stayed up later than he was used to. And, he crashed out as he came down from the drugs being plied into his system. The kid was constantly tired after the initial wave of agitation coursed through his system. He gave a glance at his watch. That should actually be coming up soon enough from this round.

"Didn't sound like you were helping your sister out much with getting dinner ready last week either," Hank added.

Ethan gave him another guilty glance. "She doesn't know how to cook."

Hank felt a smile tug at his lips at that but looked down and put on a poker face before his boy caught too much of it. It was fucking true, though. Erin was not overly domestic. She was so fucking small. Sometimes he really felt like she was too thin. Especially since Nadia died. And then with her drugs and booze binge. She hadn't done herself any favors. And, she wasn't exactly putting back on much of the little bulk she'd had the first place when her specialty item seemed to be buttered toast. It was so fucking stupid because Erin was a big eater. You put food in front of her and she'd pack it away like a teenaged boy. But if she had to make it herself? Boiling water for pasta, scrambling some eggs, frying up some hot dogs, popping in some toast, punching the numbers on the microwave, pouring milk into cereal and crunching on an apple was about as sophisticated as he'd ever seen her get.

When Camille had died and she was managing house for them, her and Justin had pretty much lived on pasta and grilled cheese. It was fucking disgusting. More reason he needed to kick Ethan's ass through rehab and get him home – because his other two kids were working on going brain dead without a fucking brain injury.

"So maybe you should be doing some of the cooking," Hank told him. "Like you're supposed to. Three meals a week. That's the deal."

"I don't know how to cook neither," Ethan lamented.

"Then fucking learn," Hank said.

"Maybe if you'd give me my computer and let me use the Internet I could look up some recipes and do that!" Ethan said with some hostility.

Hank gave him a warning look. His kids didn't get to raise their voices at him. Ethan wanted to talk scary, he pushed that too far and he'd get a taste of scary. The look was enough, though, and his son shrunk.

"So does that mean we aren't going to the game?"

"Don't know," Hank said. "I going get a good report from Lexi this week?"

Ethan cast him an apprehensive look. "Yes," he said timidly.

"You don't sound so sure," Hank said.

"Yes," Ethan said again with more firmness.

Hank gave a little nod. "I going to be happy with your piss test?"

Ethan looked at him. "It's probably going to tell ya I'm on steroids," he deadpanned.

"Really?" Hank patronized him right back. Ethan just kept his eyes. "I going to find any cigarettes when I toss your room?" Ethan shook his head. "Then maybe you'll get to the game," he allowed.

Ethan scoffed his toe in the dirty again. "It's just the two of us, though, right?"

"Yea," Hank shrugged. "Why? I too scary to go to the game with alone now?"

Ethan shook his head. "Erin brought Jay last night because I don't think she likes spending time with me alone no more."

Hank eyed him. "Jay was with you at the museum?"

Ethan nodded but then shrugged. "He's nice and stuff but I thought it was just gonna be me and Erin."

Hank let out a noise. He was fucking unimpressed. Erin was pushing this Halstead thing. Really pushing it. It was starting to piss him off. Her fucking around with him was one thing. He didn't like it – but it was what it was. He could tell her as much. He could threaten to toss her off Intelligence. Hell, he could really fucking toss her off Intelligence just to prove to her who was boss. But ultimately she'd do what she fucking wanted. She always did. Her ears had always been a little waxy when it came to listening to authority. It'd kept her alive – but it made her a fucking pain in the ass to deal with. Fine. He knew that about her. He coped. But her bring Halstead into his son's life – his family's life – that was a different story. There were lines you didn't cross. And, Hank didn't like bringing work home. He couldn't. That had been his and Camille's deal. It'd been how they'd made the marriage work. It'd been how he'd managed to be a father to his kids. And even that hadn't been enough. Work had still gotten into his home. And it'd fucking broken his home.

He still sometimes thought he'd gone against his better judgment – his personal rules – when he'd brought Erin into Intelligence. It'd meant he got to keep an eye on her. It'd given him an opportunity to help out his daughter. To get her established in the CPD. Give her a leg up. But it'd greyed out that work-home balance. Work was now at home and home was now at work. Family was there in his face and he was constantly having to tread on that line. It was a distraction. One that he knew wasn't always best for the job – for the city. But he'd dealt with it. He'd compartmentalized and made new rules and coped. It'd been manageable when Erin was living as a grown-ass woman. She wasn't at home. Things were different now, though. He was sharing coffee with her in the morning. She was sleeping in her childhood bedroom. And she was generally being a pain in his ass on a much more regular basis – in a way that couldn't be blocked out by closing his office door and barking at her about being her boss. Not just that, but they were still going through rebuilding their trust and rapport after she'd quit and fallen off the wagon and right back into her old habits. They were getting there. But she wasn't quite out of the woods yet. He was still worried about her – especially with the extra emotional stress she was under with Eth being home. She was still proving herself to him.

She'd been doing a good job of it with stepping up with Magoo. She was showing she could be the adult he knew she was. The sister and the family member. That he could depend on her in sorting out this fucking gong-show with her baby brother. But then she had to go and add fucking Halstead to the mix? Because now was the fucking time for an office romance? She wanted to get laid – there were lots of other guys who'd line up for the privilege. She needed to keep her fucking pants on and her legs closed at work. And, she needed to keep work out of his fucking house and parading around in front of his son.

"I'll talk to her," Hank said.

Ethan looked at him with big eyes, like he'd suddenly realized maybe he shouldn't have said that. But that was Ethan. Often didn't think before he spoke. "Don't get her in trouble! Jay's nice! I like him! It was OK. I didn't mind."

"Sounds like you did mind," Hank said.

Ethan shook his head.

"Then I mind," Hank provided.

Ethan squinted at him. "Why don't you like Jay?" he asked.

"I like Halstead fine," Hank said.

"No you don't," Ethan said. "You're scary with him."

Hank gave him a look. Ethan didn't know was scary was. He hadn't fucking seen scary. And, Hank knew for a fact Halstead wasn't scared of him. He'd tried his best to give the guy a fucking shakedown – more than once. Halstead had barely flinched. Stoic. He didn't get riled up easily. And he seemed to have a pretty good understanding about what lines Hank would and wouldn't cross – and when.

"I think Erin really likes him," Ethan provided – like it might be helpful.

"Mmm …" Hank just grunted.

He didn't think Erin knew what she thought or what she wanted or who she liked or didn't. And a lot of the times she didn't have a clue what was best for her. Halstead wasn't on the list of one of her better choices – no matter what either of them thought in that moment. Cops dating cops was bad fucking news – especially in the same district, let alone the same unit. He was having to put up with it enough with fucking Ruzek and Burgess and it was already clear that that was going to disintegrate. He was still making the call about which one he'd be booting when it did – because he wasn't going to let that fallout fuck up the alchemy he had going in Intelligence. Just like he wasn't going to let Lindsay and Halstead start trying to create some sort of alchemy of their own.

"Don't get her in trouble," Ethan whimpered at him.

"She's not in trouble," he half-ways lied.

Ethan sighed and eyed him. "It's not different then you liking mom," he argued.

Hank let out a sound of vague amusement and looked at his boy. "It's pretty different," he said.

"Why? Because they aren't like ten?" Ethan asked.

Voight rolled his eyes. "We weren't ten."

"You weren't old like Erin."

"You sister isn't old," Hank provided.

She wasn't but he'd admit he worried about her pushing thirty and not being paired off yet. Sometimes he thought that had less to do with her not wanting to get married than it did with her self-esteem. She didn't think she was good enough and didn't think she was deserving enough. It was why she was so fucking hard on herself. So, she gave herself to the job. Thing was, the job only gave so much back to you. As much as you loved it – the job didn't love you back. And, it'd never give you the kind of love a family did. Might give you family – but that's still not the same as having a spouse and kids of your own. Erin deserved to have that. To experience it. From the ground up. The get go. He wanted that for her. But he just didn't think she was ever going to let herself get to that point. She was pretty fucking good at taking one step forward and two steps back. Keeping that up in your thirties set you up for a whole lot of lag in the personal development department. You'd be old and lonely before you knew it. Though, Voight supposed history had shown things might work out that way anyways – whether you married your high school sweetheart or not. If his life was an example.

At least he still had the kids. The missing pieces in him were tempered somewhat by them. Though, sometimes they served as knives to just stab at those wounds more. Especially fucking Magoo. But that was a different story all together.

"You were more like me and Holly's age," Ethan said flatly.

Hank cast him a look. "You planning on marrying Holly to use that example," he teased.

Ethan gave him a horrified look and almost made an 'eww' sound. "Holly's basically a guy," he protested.

Hank just shrugged. Holly definitely wasn't a guy. He didn't much want to give her parents the time of day, but the little girl was as cute as a button. Freckles. Braids. A virtual Anne of Green Gables. Rough and tumble little tomboy in pigtails. Hank was pretty sure in a couple years that his boy wouldn't be seeing 'basically a guy' when he looked at her. He wasn't even quite sure he bought that now. The two kids had spent a lot of time together in the past week. Zipping around in their bikes. He'd caught them on the swing on the back porch crunching on a shared bag of Doritos and giggling madly over some video on Holly's phone on evening when he'd rolled home. He'd shooed the girl home while he had visions of catching Erin and Justin with other kids necking out back. Ethan was too young to doing that – yet probably the exact right age to be looking for that first kiss and summer puppy love.

"Dad …," Ethan finally asked quietly. "Do you ever talk to Mom?"

Hank squinted at him and just smacked his lips. Not responding.

"Erin says it's weird I talk to Mom. She said talking like that makes her think we need to go back to the hospital again," Ethan said.

Hank shook his head at that and reached out to give his boy's shoulder a small squeeze. "You start seeing your mom, we'll go to the hospital," he said. "You keep talking to her all you want."

"But do you talk to her too?" Ethan asked, eyeing him even more intensely.

"Sure," Hank allowed. It wasn't a lie but it felt strange saying it. But he didn't want his boy to feel like a freak. Ethan felt too much like a freak on too regular of basis. That was only being exasperated these days. Sometimes Hank felt like he was never going to have his kid feeling normal. His boy wasn't ever really going to know what a normal life looked like. None of his kids did. None of them had. Justin was about as close as it'd gotten – but that had all unraveled. Maybe little Henry would get to know normalcy?

"What do you talk to her about?" Ethan asked a little wide-eyed, almost like he was surprised he wasn't the only one. He wasn't actually crazy.

Hank scrubbed at his face for a moment. "Ask her for one of her little speeches sometimes. Her specialty."

"Does she give them to you?" he asked quietly.

He shrugged. "Sometimes. In her own way."

"What's she say?" Ethan asked with such curiosity that Hank almost felt like maybe he was a little crazy.

But he looked at the boy. His eyes so wanted to know. He so needed the reassurance that his mom was still there and in their lives. Maybe Hank did too.

"Usually to get my head out of my ass," he muttered.

He thought he needed to hear that more often than not these days. And it sounded better when Camille said it.

'Hank, pull your head out of your ass.' He'd love to have that barn-burner with her right about now. He'd kill for it.


	83. Freak Show

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

"So now what are we going to do?" Ethan asked as they walked up the block.

Hank gave him a look – a disapproving on. "You're going to do your chores."

His son huffed at him loudly about that and looked away. The kid did his chores – when told – but he definitely was working toward giving him a lot of attitude about it, and he'd been home all of a month. The little fucker. He clearly hadn't scared the shit out of him well enough. All this fucking M.S. shit and doctors appointment. He'd put on the kid gloves and now the brat was trying to take advantage of it.

"And you're going to work on that assignment the therapist gave you. So when we've got you in at St. Igainus you're ready to do your assessment."

Magoo huffed even louder at that and cast him a dirty look. "It doesn't make any sense," he said firmly.

"You're going to have to make the best sense of it you can," Hank pushed back at him.

"Then you're going to have to help me," Ethan argued.

Hank gave his head a shake and shoved his hands into his pockets. "No. I won't be able to help you during your assessment. I'm not going to help you with this."

Ethan shrugged. "Fine. I'll just fail and get kicked out of another school. Maybe they won't even take me."

Hank cast him eyes. "St. Igainus is taking you and they're getting you placed with the help you need—"

"I don't need any help," Ethan barked.

"You just said you needed help," Hank put back to him evenly and gave him stern eyes. "All my kids are going to finish high school. It's not up for discussion. You're going to do the assessment. You'll get placed with the services you need. You'll finish off middle school. You'll do your high school. And, when you're eighteen and off-living under your own roof, you can do whatever the fuck you want. Until then, you do as you're told."

Ethan squinted at him. "I don't want to be in the retard class."

Hank rolled his eyes. "The school doesn't have a 'retard' class. You aren't fucking retarded, Ethan. And don't fucking use that word. You don't want people using that word about you – don't fucking use it about other people."

"I just wanna be in the normal class!" Ethan protested.

Hank halted in the street – blocking his son's path, though he tried to dodge him. He stepped in front of him again.

"You are behind," Hank said. "I got them to give you your year so we don't have a fucking sixth grader having to repeat a grade. But your report card is complete shit. I am not happy with your grades."

"Erin—"

"Your sister fucking finished her high school. She retook the courses she needed. She had to do fucking summer school. Your mother and I hired the fucking tutors for her. Did she like it? No. Did we have to drag her through it fucking kicking and screaming? Yes. But she caught up. She got her diploma. And you're going to do the same fucking thing," he said.

Ethan flared his nostrils. "Everyone is going to know!"

"Know what? That you're on an IEP? Lots of kids are on IEPs for all kinds of reasons. Your teachers will know – and one else, it's your fucking business and not theirs."

"Yeah, right …" Ethan muttered and pushed around him. "So I fail the stupid assessment next week and then I fail school and then you'll be all mad again."

"You don't pass or fail the assessment. They assess you. They'll make sure you get the services you need. If they don't, I will," he added.

Ethan just glared at him and kept walking. "I hate school," he muttered.

Of course he fucking hated school. His boy had a brain injury. This shit wasn't easy for him. It never was going to be. Hank understood that. Not that it made it any easier to deal with. To figure out or see a future for his boy when he had all that going against him. But he knew they'd find a way to work it out and get him through. That he'd get Ethan to land on his feet. You're always saving for college or saving for bail when it came to your kids. Some days he felt like it was going to be bail with Ethan. Like the rest of them. But he'd figure it out. He had with the other two. He could with this one. Getting a kid to see that and understand that – when he was the one who had to cope with it and go through the gauntlet of junior high and fucking high school with the asshole little pricks that populate private schools – that was another thing.

"You fuck this up, Magoo, and you've got another thing coming," Hank told him sternly. It got a glance from his son.

"You going to send me away again?" Ethan almost challenged.

Hank just shook his head. "That'd be too easy," he warned.

Ethan eyed him for a moment and then turned and started trudging back up the rest of the block. Hank followed after him. Let the kid do his sulky walk if he wanted. He didn't much care. Pre-teens and sulking went together. Fucking pathetic. He'd grow up soon enough, though.

Hank glanced up the street, though, as he grew tired of looking at his boy's back. He squinted as he realized there was someone on their stoop and he took a couple long steps to catch up to his son, putting a hand on his shoulder to stop him. Ethan jerked away so Hank grabbed him tighter, yanking him to a halt and pushing by him.

"Stay here," he ordered.

Ethan glared at him but Hank just pointed a finger at him and kept walking up the street – passing the last couple houses until he was standing at the bottom of his steps where Bunny was pounding on the front door.

"I know you're in there Hank," she hollered. "Your car's out front. Open the fucking door and give me my daughter! You can't keep her from me!"

He glared at her back, waiting for her to realize she wasn't alone. She didn't. The pounding and hollering continued. She was in a tizzy. He didn't want to think about how long she'd been putting on a show for the neighbors. But the fucking old bitty across the street that was likely watching it all had seen it before. Wasn't the first time Bunny had shown up drunk and stoned off her ass pounding relentlessly at his door. But it was the first fucking time he'd had to deal with her level of pathetic in a while.

"Get off my stoop," he said flatly, finally causing her to shut up and turn around.

She shot wild eyes at him and stormed to the edge of the small porch but didn't come down, waving an accusing finger at him madly.

"You can't keep her from me, Hank," she spat at him with a raised voice. "She's my daughter. I have a relationship with her. You need to accept that."

Hank shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, bouncing on the balls of his feet slightly as he contemplated her ridiculousness. "Me and my daughter," he stressed, "have a deal. She wanted to come back to work – she isn't spending time with you."

"You can't control her like that!" Bunny yelled. "She's an adult—"

"She is," Hank shrugged. "And she made her choice."

"I am her mother!"

"A real mother wouldn't be plying her child with drugs and alcohol while they are grieving," Hank said.

"She needed help coping," Bunny pressed.

"And you still think the way to do that is by shoving crap up your nose? Sleeping in your own vomit? Having her so fucked up she doesn't even remember who's she's with or what they gave her?" Hank said.

"She's not answering my calls," Bunny said in a lack of answer. "She's not at her apartment. I haven't seen her in weeks."

Hank just shrugged at her again. "She wants to be a part of my unit, she wants to be a part of my family – then she's not to talk to you."

Bunny's eyes went wilder. "That is not your choice!"

He nodded. "It wasn't," he agreed. "It's the choice she made. The terms she agreed to."

"She's not one of your little whores, Hank. You can't just lock her away and use her anyway you want!"

He didn't grace that with a response.

"You've got her locked up in there don't you!" Bunny screamed.

Hank just gave her a look. "I have no idea where she is," he said. "She's not chipped and tagged."

"Oh, but you'd like it if she was, wouldn't you?" Bunny spat. She turned back to the door, pounding on it again. "ERIN! ERIN! It's MOM!"

Hank just gazed at her, measuring how to get rid of her without it turning into a bigger scene or a larger issue but then he heard questioningly next to him. "Dad?"

He glanced at his son and gave him a stern look. "Go 'round back," he ordered but it was too late, Bunny had turned to look at his boy, she eyes widening.

"Oh!" she hissed. "Now, I understand. It's not Erin you're looking out for – it's you using her to clean up your messes."

Ethan gazed at the woman questioningly. He'd never seen Bunny before in his life. Hank worked hard enough to keep her away from Erin. He sure as hell wasn't going to let her get anywhere near his sons.

"Dad…?" Ethan asked again, confusion and concern painting across his face.

But Hank just looked more sternly at Bunny now, taking several steps forward and mounting his steps, getting into her space.

"I won't let you talk to my daughter—"

"MY DAUGHTER!" Bunny near screamed and lifted her hand to him. Not bright. But she never had been. He grabbed her wrist harshly, holding it in place while she struggled against his grip, before she did anything stupider than she already was doing.

"I definitely won't let you talk to my son," he pressed, his eyes drilling into her. He tossed her wrist aside with enough strength to cause her body to give a slight twist from the momentum. "Get off my property."

"Your son," Bunny laughed and glared beyond him at his boy. "You mean your little freak show," she hissed.

"Get off my property," Voight spat at her even more firmly to the point that spittle flew in her face.

"You're such a great parent. Right, Hank?" Bunny taunted. "But look what you do," she said, gesturing firmly in his boy's direction, who had turned wide eyed. The hurt playing across his face.. "A freak. A fucking retarded freak …"

His hand flew up involuntarily at that and grabbed at her neck. Ethan made a startled noise and Hank didn't need to turn around to hear his feet beating against the pavement as he took off.

He glanced to see him bolting down the street. "ETHAN!" he called out loudly but the boy didn't stop. His eyes shifted back to Bunny but she just sneered more – a smile of pride at what she'd just accomplished playing across her lips.

"A retarded freak you couldn't even take care of – and you think you can take care of MY CHILD?" she said and he growled, his fingers starting to clutch tighter. "You get your wife killed and you do that to your own child." The fingers gripped tighter to the point that Bunny choked a little but her eyes just danced at him and then fought to push out the words: "Go ahead. I'll see to it you go down. This time you won't come back."

He growled again. His mind fighting against his body. His wants versus what he knew he had to do.

"HANK!" he heard barked at him and his eyes shifted to the door to see Erin standing there. She clearly hadn't been out of bed yet. Her hair a mess. No make up on. But she glared at him. Though, her eyes looked fearful too.

He let his grip around Bunny's neck loosen and he pushed her away. Pushing her back toward Erin, stumbling with the force. He turned and trotted down the steps, looking in the direction Ethan had gone before he started storming down the street to search for his boy. He cast a glance over his shoulder, stopping and pointing accusingly at Erin.

"You see the kind of crap you bring into my house?" he spat at her. "Enough of the bullshit."

Erin just gaped at him while she examined her mother who was putting on a good show of gasping for air and clutching at her bruised larynx.

Fuck that. Fuck her.

He was holding together his family by a thread. None of them – nothing – was going to fuck it up. Not right now. Especially not the likes of Bunny or all the fucking things.

"ETHAN!" he hollered and kept charging down the street. He needed to find his boy. Bring him home. No one took that away from him either.


	84. Given Choices

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Erin pushed Bunny away from her in her prolonged show of clutching at her throat and wheezing.

"What the hell are you thinking?" she demanded.

Bunny gaped at her. "Me?! Did you see what he did to me?" she demanded, clutching at her throat even more.

Erin huffed and moved away from her to the steps, gazing down the street to try to see where Hank had gone. He'd moved quickly. He was out of sight – just like Ethan.

"You provoked him," Erin muttered.

"Provoked him? He just tried to kill me when all I was doing –"

Erin spun back around, her own anger tightening her chest more. "What the hell are you doing, Mom? Why are you here?"

Bunny staggered toward her. "Erin, honey, I've been trying to reach you for weeks."

Erin huffed and shook her head, running her fingers through her hair and glancing the other way down the street. Her own franticness was rising. Where the hell did Ethan take off to so quickly? How far would he have gotten before Hank went in pursuit? He was likely just hiding up some laneway. Ducked into someone's garage and backlot. But the street was lined with them.

"I told you, I can't see you right now," Erin said.

"You mean, Hank Voight told you you can't see me right now."

Erin glared at her. "I wanted my job back, Mom."

Bunny reached out, clutching at her bicep. "Sweetheart, that job's no good for you."

Erin yanked away. "You don't know anything about my job."

"I know you haven't been answering my calls," Bunny spat. "That you're never home! You don't answer your door."

Erin shook her head and looked back and forth along the street again, scanning. "Because I haven't been home, Mom."

"Because you're always at work. Dealing with that filth."

She gave her eyes. "You mean filth like you made me grow up surrounded by?" she seethed. "I'm cleaning up this city, Mom. I'm making it a safer place. A better place."

"You sound more and more like him every day," Bunny shook her head.

Erin glared. "That's not such a bad thing."

Bunny's eyes shot back to her, drilling into her. "It is when you aren't his daughter, Erin. No matter what he thinks. He says. What you think. He's not blood."

Erin shook her head, looking away. "What did blood get me, Mom? What'd you ever give me that's so much better than what he's given me?"

"What did he give you?" Bunny gritted.

Erin gestured at the front door. "A roof, Mom. A fucking bed to sleep in. Electricity. Heat. Food on the table. Clean clothes. For starts."

"And at what cost, Erin?" Bunny hissed, pressing to get in her face but Erin just pushed her away. "He's still a pimp, sweetheart. He just puts a fancy bow on what he does. How you pay him."

Erin crossed her arms and glared at her. "Hank and Camille gave me a life, Mom. They gave me a family."

Bunny's arm flapped madly down the street. "The little freak? That's your family."

Erin batted her arm away, drilling into her eyes. "Don't think that I won't hit you too," she warned. "Don't talk about him like that."

"Hank is using you," Bunny hissed. "He's got you locked up here."

"I'm not locked up here," Erin sighed at her.

"Looking after that little … mongrel."

Erin's eyes glared. "He is my baby brother," she hissed.

"You're baby brother?" Bunny laughed and then lunged to clutch at her biceps. "You have a baby brother – and you didn't take much interest in him."

Erin threw her hands off her. "You mean Teddy? My half-brother that you turned your back on? That you didn't even know when he was fucking picked up by a sex trafficking ring? When both of us were having to pimp ourselves out to feed your fucking habits, MOM? Don't talk to me about taking care of anyone. You didn't take care of us."

"You didn't take care of him," Bunny pressed. "He's blood and you just let him slip away."

Erin spun getting right into her face. "I was a kid. I did the best I could."

"And where is he now?" Bunny hissed at her. "You're so busy cleaning up Hank Voight's messes you can't clean up your own."

"Teddy's not my mess, Bunny," Erin spat, spittle coming from her mouth as she pushed her mother away from her again.

"I love you, Erin," Bunny near begged.

"You never loved me," Erin muttered, gazing down the street. Hank was charging back at his full-speed penguin waddle. A bulldog on a mission – but he was alone. "You don't treat people you love the way you treated me. Teddy."

"I want a relationship with you," Bunny said.

Erin shook her head. "You want something from me. You always have. Use me, abuse me, and then toss me aside when you've got what you think you want."

"That's not true," Bunny whined. "I've tried. I've tried so hard to have a relationship with you. He's kept you from me. He's put a wedge between us."

Erin gave her a glance. "It wasn't him who put the wedge between us, Bunny. That was all you. And, anything Hank's done – it's because he cares about me. He cares about his kids. He loves them. He'd lay down his life for us. Any of us. Kill for us. That's not something you'll ever be able to relate to."

Bunny just stared at her slacked jawed, searching for words. But Erin didn't give her the time to find them. She jogged down the steps just as Hank passed back in front of the house.

"Didn't find him?"

He shook his head and clicked open the Escalades locks, yanking the door open and getting in. Erin quickly rounded the front and pulled open the passenger door. She looked up at the porch where Bunny was still gaping at her.

"Don't come back here," she warned and got in closing the door. She looked at Hank as he started the car, pulling out her phone. "I'll call Holly's parents and Lexi. Get a rundown of any of the kids he's hanging out with."

Hank gave a little nod and pulled the SUV away from the curb starting down the street so fast that the wheels briefly spun in the thin layer of debris along the street.

"We'll find him," Erin offered.

He gave her a glance. "Better," he muttered.

He was right. They better. They had to.


	85. Find Him

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Erin pulled her eyes away from scanning the streets to look at Hank. His brow was creased in his fixed concentration as he glared out the window.

They'd been driving aimlessly for hours now. Nothing. They had no clue where Ethan could be. For all they knew he could be back at the house – though they had swung back there a couple times and hadn't spotted him. He could be a block from the house. Or he could be out in the suburbs or even farther by now if he wanted to be. He could be anywhere really. They didn't know.

He wasn't answering his phone. His few friends – who weren't much more than acquaintances at this point – hadn't offered any sort of insight on where he might've gone or what he might've been up to. He wasn't hiding out in any of their basements or garages. He wasn't at any nearby parks. Now it was a matter of whack-a-mole in the third largest city in the country. And it was dark.

As the dark set in and the hours ticked by – taking it later and later into the night – the amount of stress seeping off Hank had grown. It was oozing from him.

After three hours of them coming up empty handed, he'd started calling in favors. Letting other cops know that his son was out there somewhere. Calling associates and advising them – making promises that he shouldn't be offering and likely some he couldn't keep, for if they spotted him and made sure he was returned home in one piece. Hank liked to think he had eyes on every street corner in Chicago. That night it didn't seem like he had enough anywhere.

"We're going to find him," Erin offered again.

She'd likely said it too many times. More than he wanted to hear. But she didn't know what else to say. She couldn't think of anything else to say – and they weren't exactly talking. In his angered mind she might still be taking some of the blame for this – for Bunny showing up, for her saying stupid shit, for Ethan running away.

So instead they'd sat in silence. They'd gazed out the windows – scanning the streets. Stopping to talk in shops and to kids. To make their respective phone calls without looking at the other when they did.

Erin didn't know who else to call – even though she gazed at her phone again. She kept hoping that it would ring. That a text would pop onto the screen. That one of her C.I.s would spot him. Or better – that Ethan would just fucking call her and they could go get him.

"It's dark," Hank said. "He doesn't know the city."

Erin sighed and leaned her head against the glass of the window, tracking the street out of the corner of her eye. "He's more street smart than you give him credit for, Hank," she said quietly.

"He didn't grow up on the street like you," he said more harshly. "He's a kid."

"He's twelve," she said a little defensively. "He can figure out how to navigate the CTA."

Hank shook his head. "He hasn't been here since he was nine. He hasn't had to use transit."

Erin turned and gazed at him. "He's going to be OK," she tried.

It didn't come out nearly as convincingly as she wanted it to. She didn't like the idea of her little brother wandering around Chicago in the dark either. Him using the bus or L at night. Or off in a park. Or wandering the street. As much as she wanted to think he was holed up somewhere – likely somewhere close to the house – she also knew how much trouble you could get into the city when left to your own devices. How hurt you could get if you ended up in the wrong places at the wrong times with the wrong people.

"Yea, well, he's not your son, is he," Hank muttered.

Erin shook her head and went back to gazing out her window. "That's such bullshit," she muttered herself.

"What?" Hank barked.

She turned to glare at him. "That line, Hank," she spat. "It's bullshit. It's as bad as Justin's 'not his sister' crap. It's just as demeaning. It stings just as much."

Hank just shrugged, not even giving her the slightest glance. "Well, he's not your son. Not your kid. You don't know what having kids is like. It's easy for you to say he's going to be OK."

Erin drilled eyes at him. "No, it's not fucking easy for me to say he's going to be OK, Hank," she intoned at him. "I'm sitting her going out of my mind too with worry."

He just grunted. Again making her feel like he didn't believe her. That she had no rights in any of this.

She just gazed at him. "I still remember the day he was born too, Hank," she said more quietly. "I still look at him and see that little baby. I remember holding him and what he smelled like. Being up helping you and Camille at with night feedings. Changing diapers. And, you know, in some ways him being there. Him being a part of my life gave me more fucking stability than you or Camille ever could. He gave me someone to be stable for."

"You did a good job at that this spring," Hank monotoned.

She felt more hurt wash over her. "Well, someone had taken him away from me for the better part of two years, didn't they?"

Hank shot her daggers at that. "You're an adult. You have—"

"Yeah," Erin pushed back. "And, maybe as adults, you can stop holding what happened over me. I stumbled. I'm working on it. I cleaned up. I'm back on track."

"Kicking and screaming," Hank said flatly, going back to his driving. "And still haven't done everything I told ya to. Kept up your end of the deal. Based on what was on my doorstep this afternoon. Why your brother is … in the wind."

"Now he's my brother again," Erin seethed quietly but let her eyes set on him. "Bunny's my mother whether either of us likes it or not, Hank. Getting rid of her is easier said than done. You tried for fifteen years. How'd that go for you?"

He cast her an angry look. "Or maybe you STILL aren't ready to cut the cancer from your life."

She almost wanted to cry but just shook her head and looked out the window again. "She's my mom," she said again quietly. "She's always going to be apart of me, Hank."

"If you let her be," he mumbled.

She glanced at him. "You can't just forget your mother, Hank," she said. "I've tried. It doesn't work. You expect Ethan and Justin to just forget Camille? Cut her out of their lives?"

He slammed on the brakes much harder than he needed to for a red. It caused her to jerk and when she cast him a look, he was seething at her. "See the difference is their mother died. And she wasn't some fucking crack whore neglecting her kids, hooking them on dope and prostituting them out to every fucking man she brought into that fucking crash pad she called a home."

Erin shrugged at him. "But they still aren't supposed to talk about Camille are they Hank? You'd prefer they forget about her? Cut her from their lives?"

"No," he barked at her. "But if they want to talk about their mom. If any of you want to talk about her. I got you all the fancy head doctors. Go cry your crocodile tears there. Not to me."

He revved the engine and spun the wheels as they roared out of the stop like he needed to further prove his point.

"That's bullshit, Hank," Erin spat at him with a raised voice. "Ethan needs to talk about it. We all fucking need to talk about it. You need to talk about it."

"What I need is for the lot of you to stop fucking pushing my dead wife in my face right now," he barked, his eyes drilling holes through the glass in the windshield.

Erin let out a slow breath, eyeing him carefully. "You're losing it, Hank," she said carefully. "Maybe you can pass it by everyone else as just … you. But I'm not everyone else. I know you. I've lived with you. You're slipping right now. This Anton Lee stuff-"

Suddenly the car whipped to the side of the street and the brakes slammed again. "Get out," he barked at her.

She stared at him in some momentary shock but then calmly shook her head. "No," she said. "I'm worried about him too. I'm staying until we find him."

"You aren't doing a hell of a lot in here," he seethed. "Get out."

She shook her head. "No."

He glared at her and then leaned across her, opening the door and pushing it until it bounced into the dark street. But Erin just stayed put, even as his hand reached and unclicked her seatbelt and then glared at her more.

"I'm not getting out, Hank," she said. "He's my brother. He's the baby. He's always going to be a baby to me too. Always."

They sat in a standoff. She could feel the rage rolling off him. Part of her was scared. That he may snap again. That his hands might come up to her neck like they had Bunny's. That he'd physically push her out of the car. That he'd get out himself and remove her. She couldn't overpower Hank if he set his mind on something. And if he lost his temper right now, she wasn't sure she wanted to be in his warpath. She already was and she was feeling it in the pit of her stomach. She hoped that he couldn't see it. Couldn't sense just how intimidated she was by him in that moment.

But he needed to calm. He was slipping under the stress. Ethan. Camille's anniversary. Work. Anton Lee and what he thought that meant. Justin and Olive and the baby. It was becoming too much to compartmentalize and Hank was losing it. He was really fucking losing it. She could see it. Feel it. And she thought that scared her more than the physical harm that he might bring her if she pushed him hard enough. She didn't want to see him go over the edge.

He couldn't go over the edge. There was too much at stake. He still had too many eyes on him. If he went over, there might not be any coming back. He'd fall into a hole and whether he meant to or not, he'd be dragging others with him. Her, Justin, Ethan, even little Henry in a way. It'd have fall out for the rest of the squad. Maybe the whole CPD and the city. He couldn't let this get to him. Not now. But everyone had their breaking point. She'd proved she did. She'd hit hers. She was still bouncing back from it.

Maybe Hank had never hit his before. He buried and buried and buried things inside. He was a tank. He just kept charging forward. But there was so much flak in his way right now. So many fucking obstacles. He could only keep bulldozing through for so long before he got stuck in the mud and started spinning his tires. Dug himself in digger and digger. And that was just going to make him angry. It'd made him do something stupid. He was teetering at the stupid moment right now. She could sense it.

But their standoff finally broke as his phone rang. He let it go several rings. She thought he might not answer it. But he finally snagged it, looking at the screen before he did.

"Yeah?" he spat into it. "OK. Yeah." He hung up and looked back out the windshield, not at her, ordering flatly, "Shut the door. Alvin's got him."


	86. Slugger

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

The SUV roared over the curb and into Alvin's driveway with such force that the bump almost caused Erin to hit her head on the roof. The entire drive over had felt more like they were in a high-speed chase than going to retrieve Ethan. The tension streaming off Hank sure as hell hadn't diminished any.

He'd barely pulled the keys out of the ignition before he'd sent the door flying open and he'd gone flying out with it. He was storming toward the house. Erin could barely keep up with him.

The door opened – like they'd been waiting for them, because they likely had. Poor Alvin. He was always getting dragged into Hank's crap. She sometimes wondered if Hank realized what kind of true friend Al was to have had his back all these years. Not that Hank hadn't had his too – but in some ways, she suspected that Hank needed Alvin a little more than the other way around. And, maybe that Hank had dragged Olinsky down a bit in the process of their lives, careers and friendships. Bounded together in an unbreakable bond that wasn't really by choice anymore.

It was Meredith, though, who stepped out on the front porch. Lexi was near cowering behind her. Erin tried to offer them reassuring smile – because she could see the apprehension in their teenaged daughter. She suddenly realized that it was likely Lexi that Ethan had reached out to – his crush … his babysitter. Likely the closest thing he had to a 'friend' at the moment. And, she'd betrayed that trust by telling her parents where he was or luring him to the house under false pretences so they could get him into safety and home. She likely felt horrible even if she had done the right thing. There was sympathy pouring off Meredith too. But Hank seemed to have no time for it.

"Where is he?" Hank barked at her before even getting to the steps.

"Hank …" Meredith started. But he didn't even give her a chance to get out whatever she was going to try to say. He'd shifted directions.

"He's got him in the garage, doesn't he." It wasn't a question and he was off down the driveway – headed at full steam to the back of the house.

Meredith sighed loudly and came near running down the stairs. Erin gave her a strange look at it but realized if she was moving that quickly, she should likely be keeping pace with Hank too. Something was up. She jogged the couple steps to reach him but that only caused Meredith to come faster too.

"Alvin!" she hollered. "Alvin!"

Hank gave her an angry look and just stormed even faster but Alvin suddenly appeared from the garage – hurrying out to them but holding up both hands to bring Hank to a halt. He did but it looked like he was about read to bull charge Alvin. Even though he'd stopped moving forward, he hadn't stopped moving. He was near twitching with his need to get to Ethan. Erin watched him carefully. He didn't seem stable. The anger in him was boiling.

"Where is he?" Hank demanded.

Alvin held his hand in a near peace offering again but pressed the one palm to Hank's chest and he jerked back near violently. Alvin gave him a warning look and gestured with the other hand to the garage while Erin did her best not to pace and dance around him too. Hank's energy was rubbing off on her. She couldn't stay still. She could feel the explosion. The rupture. The earthquake that was pending. She sort of wanted to get away from it but she also wanted to protect the others around him from it.

"He's just in the garage, Hank, OK," Alvin offered calmly.

Hank moved to go around him but Alvin hopped to the side, getting back in his path. Alvin saw his eyes look passed them and she glanced behind to see Meredith and Lexi standing several feet behind them in the driveway. Lexi looked beside herself, running her hands through her hair and chewing on a fingernail while Meredith oozed of concern.

"OK, Hank," Alvin offered again. "He's OK. But he got pretty beaten up." Hank's nostrils flared at that. "He was waving some of his pharms around – trying to make a trade."

"A trade for what?" Hank barked.

Alvin held up his hand to block him again. "I don't know. But he says he smoked a joint."

Hank shook his head. "That little fucker," he gritted out.

Alvin's hand still stayed like he was doing some sort of ninja defensive move. Ready to attack and hold him back all at the same time. "It might've been laced with something. It's a bad high. He's pretty skittish right now."

"Fuck," Hank pressed out. Erin could see his forehead becoming redder. That vein pulsing in his neck. "Fucker."

That hand still dancing in front of his path as he again tried to charge by. "He's OK, Hank. OK, we've got Will Halstead here."

"Why the fuck is Halstead here?" Hank barked.

"Because he's OK, Hank, but he's pretty fucked up and he's saying some fucked up shit, man. OK? He's talking about hurting himself. I didn't know how much of his you wanted showing up in the system. So until you got here—"

Erin spotted movement in the garage door and looked to see a once-again battered Ethan gazing out. Hank spotted him too, though.

"Fuck," Hank said and his fists clenched at his sides. "You little fuck."

He really did charge forward at that point and Ethan started to bolt – as fast as he could at a staggering pace.

Erin bolted too, chasing after him. "Ethan! No!" she called, sprinting to catch up and grab his shirt sleeve. He struggled against her. Crying and breathing heavily and flailing about.

"No! Let me go! Let me go!" he yelled in a stammer.

"Calm down," she said, trying to draw his flailing body to her. Whatever Will had done so far he was still covered in blood and was puffy. And with the tears and crying, stringy mucus was sticking to his face. His eyes were glassy – dilated and wild. He was tripping. Badly.

Hank hadn't caught up and as she finally managed to wrap Ethan in her strong grip, using her body – arms and legs to hold him against her on the ground as he struggled to break away – she looked to see that Alvin had moved – putting his entire body in Hank's path and ramming both of his hands into his chest.

"OK, man, you need to calm down before you go talk to him," he said.

Hank's eyes were nearly as wide and wild at Ethan's at that point. "You telling me how to raise my son now, O?" he spat.

"No," Alvin said evenly. "I'm telling you that he's hurt, he's a little scared and he's tripping so you just –"

He didn't have a chance to finish the statement. Hank's fist flew up and caught Alvin in the jaw with enough force that he staggered backward. Erin gasped. "Hank!" she cried out. She couldn't run to him, though. She had to clutch at Ethan tighter as he let out his own yelp and started to fight more fiercely to get away.

The punch wasn't the end of it. Hank nearly flew on top of Alvin – knocking him to the ground. He was down on the ground with him and just pummelling him. His fist flying up and down and Alvin doing little more than holding up his hands in a vain attempt to block the strikes while it became apparent that Hank had drawn blood – likely having broken his nose.

"HANK! STOP!" Erin cried out louder while Meredith just stood there with her hands up at her mouth in horror while Lexi cried.

Erin stammered. She looked at Ethan. She let go and she knew he would run – but she couldn't let this continue. She was about to toss her little brother aside – to risk losing him into the shadows again – when another body flew out of the garage. At first she thought it was Will but as the man descended on Hank, pulling at his shoulders and smashing biceps in a struggled to haul him off of Alvin, she realized it was Jay.

"Sarge! Sarge! You need to stop!" Jay ordered him, struggling against the muscular tank that made up Hank Voight.

There was grunting and a flurry of fists and elbows but Jay somehow managed to wrestle Hank to the ground – pinning his one arm and laying nearly all his weight on top of him while Voight growled and grunted and struggled under him. The force was enough to still send Jay's body up and struggle again to pin him back on the ground and immobilize him.

Alvin nearly crab walked away from the fight. Dabbing at his noise with gritty hands and looking at the blood.

Erin felt her own breathing and heart rate pounding as she watched the scene. As she watched the tip in power. The breakdown. The struggle. But then she realized it wasn't over. That the growling out of Hank wasn't grunts of pure rag any more – it was a ragged sob. And she felt her own grip in her chest, pulling her struggling baby brother even closer to her – holding him tight.

"Get off him. Get off him!" Alvin ordered, using a bloody hand to push at Jay's shoulder.

Jay was gazing down with deep concern at Hank – he glanced back at her. His eyes were just as wide-eyed as any of them.

Hank near scurried away from Jay's weight, pulling himself up and turning away. Alvin moved closer, putting a hand on Hank's shoulder. "You alright, man," he said. But Hank pulled away almost as violently as he'd thrown punches.

His arm settled back as he lopsidedly tried to support himself on the cement – favoring his own bruises and battered knuckles. Erin could almost feel him wincing from where she was – and she saw his shoulders still shaking.

As Alvin reached to touch his shoulder, he jerked away a little less adamantly again. Alvin scooted up closer to him and just sat behind him, setting one hand gently on his shoulder and nodding his chin at Meredith and Lexi to leave. They slowly retreated – glancing back at him.

Jay did the same –moving back to the garage and casting her a look as he re-entered. His concern and sadness was apparent. But she didn't have anything to say to him. What could she say.

She couldn't even form words then if she wanted to anyways. She body was trembling too and Ethan was shaking just as badly against her.

They were broken. All of them. Maybe beyond repair. And they were breaking all those around them in the process it seemed. Destroying everything in their wake.

Death and destruction. It seemed to follow them all.

And it hurt.

So she cried. She cried for Hank and for Hank and for Camille. And for all the things each and every one of them had lost and all the hurt they'd felt and all this insurmountable struggle to try to make things better – and they just never seemed to get better. No matter how hard they tried.

 **OK. So this story could sort of rapidly coming to an end. It could just keep going on with little sort of episodes from their lives. But to make it self contained, it would make sense for it to end soon. Let me know in comments or PM what you'd prefer.**


	87. Steaming

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Alvin gave Meredith a thin smile of thanks as she set a tea down in front of him. Really, he likely could use more than that. But he didn't say as much. Instead, he lowered the cold pack away from his cheekbone slightly so he could better gaze at Hank. He looked more battered than Alvin felt.

"You okay?" Olinsky asked after his wife had left them – though rather reluctantly. He was almost surprised that she'd let Voight into the house. But she had some understanding of how it was. How these things went. Even if she didn't like it.

Voight just grunted, still gazing at the cup of tea that had been placed in front of him too. It wasn't even caffeinated. Fucking herbal shit. Likely some sort of calming crap that Meredith had in the cupboard. But the guy finally glanced at him.

"You?" Hank asked.

Alvin swiped at the tissue he had stuffed up his nose. Hank hadn't managed to break it – but he'd gotten enough blows it that it'd been a gusher. Not that seeing red made Hank stop. Alvin was pretty sure it just made him punch harder. But the guy was clearly unhinged at that point. He could understand, though. He had a lot on his plate. Likely too much for one person – especially when Voight excelled at asking for help about as well as he did. Real men didn't ask for help. Thing was he'd clearly reached his breaking point. It was bound to happen eventually. Probably some sort of testament to the guy that it hadn't happened years ago.

Al didn't know how he'd cope with it if he lost Meredith and ended up with a sick child who just kept getting sicker. Throw in the bullshit going on with Justin and the baggage of Erin and then some jail-time and all the politics of work and all the debts of the past. Shit was bound to creep up on you. A liked to think he'd handle it as well as Voight. They were similar that way. Old timers. Men's men. But when you throw in your wife and kids – it changes the dynamic. He couldn't lose them. He didn't even want to think about it. The brushes he'd had with it had been more than enough. Terrifying didn't even begin to describe it. You did what you needed to do. He'd learned that quick. He'd blown a guys brains out in the process.

"Sure," Alvin said. "You don't hit as hard as you used to old man."

Hank let out a snort and cast him a small look. They'd had blow outs before. Wasn't their first. Probably wouldn't be their last. With some luck they'd be some of those fucking real old timers. The ones in their 80s – still grumpy old man at the Social Club. Get bent out of shape about something – still arguing about the past – and beat the shit out of each other. Pathetic. But Chicago.

"Sorry," Hank finally allowed and gestured at him.

Alvin shrugged. "Just wait. Retaliation is a bitch."

Voight allowed a thin smile at that and went back to staring at the steaming teacup.

They'd both just sat there for a while until the elder Halstead came in. He hardly looked at them – but the look he did give had a bit of distain in it. Olinsky didn't really think he got it. He was sure that the younger Halstead, with his moral compass, likely had been in the garage spouting his own distain. Hopefully not in front of Voight's kid. Ethan didn't need to be hand-fed that shit.

Olinsky figured that Halstead would keep his mouth shut about what had happened, though. He at least had that much sense in him. He was a sensible guy. And Lindsay would put him in his place too – as much as he listened to her. But even with that, the rest of the bullpen was still likely going to notice that his face was beaten to a pulp and Hank's knuckles had the bearings of being the culprit. He'd have to come up with some sort of way to grunt at them and make them shut their traps and focus on the work – not shit that wasn't their business. Most of them were still young and dumb enough they hadn't seemed to quite figure out how any of that work yet – especially when it came to Voight. Though, they were learning.

Halstead washed his hands at the sink without speaking to them but then wandered over to the table, wiping his hands on a towel. He gave Olinsky a bit of a nod.

"You want me to take a look at any of that?" he offered.

Al shook his head. "I'm fine."

Halstead eyed him for a moment but then shifted his eyes to Hank, who was actually looking at him anxiously. Or at least as anxiously as Voight ever let himself look.

"How he doing?" he asked.

Halstead gave a bit of a shrug. "He's coming down. Nodding a bit. Still going to recommend you take him into a hospital. I can come with you over to Chicago Med. Do my best to deflect any calls to DCFS, if that's what you're worried about."

Voight just shook his head. "We're not going to the hospital," he said flatly.

Halstead eyed him. "His ribs are likely cracked again."

Hank shrugged. "What do you guys do for that anyway? Bind him up. Hand him some pills. Send us home."

Halstead glared at him. "You should gave a drug panel run on him. See what he got into."

"What's he say he got into?"

"He says he smoked a joint," Halstead said. "If he's telling the truth, I think it was likely laced with fentanyl."

"Fentanyl?" Al spat out. "Thought that was just showing up oxy and heroin?"

"Yea," Halstead allowed. "We've had some bad O.D.s in the department. It's nasty."

"The fucking pricks are putting it in weed now?" Voight demanded. "Handing it out to fucking pre-schoolers?"

Halstead gave a sigh. "With the joints, they're actually just spraying them. It's invisible but it gives a different kind of high. We've had some kids in really tripping out on it. Cheap for the dealers and lets them sell it at a higher retail."

"Fuck," Hank said and cast Al a look. "We haven't got any intel about that cropping up. Aren't you supposed to be fucking reporting this?"

"We do," Halstead allowed calmly, though his body language indicated his annoyance. "What your people do with it after we call it in, isn't my business."

"We can check with Narcotics," Olinsky provided. "Likely got routed that way."

Voight pounded a finger on a table. "If these assholes are handing this out like candy to babies, it's our fucking business. That's not going down on the streets of my city. Into the hands of my kid."

Al gave a little sigh but said nothing. Voight had enough vendettas on the go. Going after whatever teenager had sold – or more likely by the sounds of it – traded this shit with Ethan, wasn't going to accomplish much. Just open a whole other kettle of worms.

"There's a lot of scary shit on the streets right now," Halstead said.

Voight just grunted and Halstead kept looking at him.

"Erin said that she thinks Ethan might be turning to marijuana to self-medicate? That he's in a fair amount of pain and discomfort right now," Halstead tried.

Hank just grunted again.

"Well, if that's the case – you need to talk to him about what's out there. You don't want him buying on the streets."

Voight's eyes shot to him. "You think I don't fucking know that? Trust me. The little asshole won't be pulling this shit again."

"He might," Halstead said. "If he's not getting what he needs at home."

They locked eyes in a standoff that Olinsky was glad he wasn't involved in. He thought this Halstead might not have been briefed on how he shouldn't fuck with Hank Voight. Generally, you never wanted to cross him. But if you were going to cross him – crossing him on his family and how he raised his kids wasn't an area he wanted to wade into. The state of Al's face should've been clue to that enough. But apparently this Halstead was dense. Or had a pair of balls.

"He'd be eligible for medical marijuana," Halstead told him.

Hank balked. "You think I should give a 12-year-old who's got brain damage – and clearly impulsive control and behavior problems – and already has fucking addictive behaviors fucking Mary Jane. Just tell him go at it with the drugs."

"He already clearly knows what pharmaceuticals are," Halstead pressed back at him. "You're at least going to have to go to the hospital – or his doctor – to get refills on whatever he had on him. Because it's gone. And, yeah, I think starting him on medical marijuana – in a supervised setting – and educating him on drug use and being an active participant in it makes a whole lot of sense. Because otherwise – this isn't going to be the last time this happens. And, I'd say it likely makes a lot more sense to be talking about it with a 12-year-old kid who's in pain and still listens some to his dad and his older siblings than it does to try to talk some sense to some sixteen or seventeen year old junkie."

"My kid is not going to be a junkie," Voight barked, bolting forward in his chair.

Halstead shrugged. "If you say so. Maybe you should read a bit about brain damaged kids and drugs. Really onset MS and recreational drug use. Then talk to me about whether or not your kid is going to be a junkie. Or whether you're going to get out of denial about some of this and start dealing with the kid – not the disease."

Voight tossed daggers at him but Halstead just directed his eyes to Olinsky and nodded at the icepack. "You got another one of those?"

"Yeah, sure," Al allowed and pointed at the freezer. Halstead nodded and went and freezed one while Hank sat their fuming. He then headed back for the door.

"He needs counseling too, Hank," he added before he left. "He's confused. He's scared. And he's depressed. And he was saying a lot of shit about self harm that if you were at a hospital, he wouldn't be walking out of there tonight. Get him some help."

Voight just kept glaring straight ahead. Not giving Halstead the benefit of acknowledgement.

Olinsky waited until the door had clattered shut and sat in the stare with his long-time friend and partner. He then held up a palm at him. "Hank, I'm not telling you how to raise your kid or how to deal with any of this. Because, I really don't fucking know. But, he's a doctor. He's an outside perspective. Maybe – just listen."

"You'd hand Lexi drugs and take her to get her head shrunk?" Hank spat.

Olinsky let out a ragged breath and shook his head before shrugging his shoulders. "I don't fucking know, Hank. But I do know that I'd do whatever I needed to to make sure she was healthy and happy."

"That's what I do," Hank mumbled.

"Healthy, Hank," Al said. "I know you go to the ends of the world and back for your kids' health and well-being. I've seen it. But happy?"

Hank cast him a look but then looked away – going back to staring at that not quite as steaming cup of tea.


	88. Lone Tear

**Title: Interesting Dynamics**

 **Author: ZombieJazz**

 **Fandom: Chicago PD**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own them. Chicago PD and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The character of Ethan has been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

 **Summary: Hank and Erin are forced to re-explore their complicated 'family' dynamic when an unexpected 'family emergency' causes Voight to have to deal with demons related to his wife's death, his failings in parenting, and the challenges his work has created for his family and for his ability to be the father he wants to see himself as.**

Erin glanced at the door as Hank entered the garage. It was a somewhat tentative approach. He gazed in at them and then scanned the rest of the building – likely searching for the Halstead brothers. But they'd left long ago. Somewhat reluctantly.

Jay hadn't wanted to leave. He'd made abundantly clear that he thought Hank had completely lost it. She agreed – but likely not in quite the way Jay was thinking. She was hoping that maybe Hank had just hit bottom and that now they could start to rebuild. She didn't really have time to listen to any of Jay's opinions on her fractured family anyways.

She was trying to take care of Ethan while Will was stressing to her repeatedly that Hank should be taking him to a hospital. She knew, though, arbitrarily making that decision at that point wouldn't do anything to improve the situation. Ethan was stable. He was nodding. He was calming. He was in a bit of pain – but that seemed to be his life at the moment. They could deal with the hospitals and doctors and counselors and head-shrinking later.

Apparently she'd stood her ground enough – given Jay hard enough glares – that they'd both listened and left.

That had been a while ago. It felt like a long while ago. She wasn't really sure how long it'd been. She'd kind of lost all sense of time. The whole night just felt never-ending at that point.

Ethan was sprawled against her. His face was buried somewhere between her breast and her armpit. She didn't think it was very appealing positioning for either of them. But she hadn't said anything. He was trying to hide the fact that he was still struggling with tears. Every now and then another sob would rattle out of him and he'd suck back snot. She was pretty sure that the wet spot she felt wasn't just tears either – boggers and snot. And lots of it. He wasn't fooling anyone. She could feel the struggle to control his teetering emotions in his breathing and his slight trembles.

There was a part of her that wanted to tell him to stop. To get control of himself. But he was. He was trying. A lot had happened and he was still processing and coming to terms with it as much as a 12-year-old could. Hell, her 29-year-old mind was still processing and coming to terms with it.

Besides – telling him to suck it up was Hank's job. She'd done it with Ethan when he was a baby. A toddler and a pre-schooler. Tease him at his tears. Because little kid tantrums didn't count for much. They were usually kind of funny. Though not funny in having to listen or deal with them. But he'd been told to suck it up and that he didn't have it so bad before he was even out of diapers. She'd stopped telling him that after Camille. She figured after all of that he'd earned his right to a lifetime of tears – especially since the majority of the time he kept them under wraps. He was Hank's son. Not a crybaby. Not a pussy – as his father not so delicately put it.

And, he was her baby brother. She was his protector. If she hadn't been protective enough of him before Camille – she'd become fiercely protective of him after. She'd missed him while he was gone. She was glad she'd had work to bury herself in or she might've lost herself then too.

Right now – on night's like this – it felt like a burden to not let herself slip again. It'd be easier to just go back to her old ways. Her coping methods she'd adopted out of survival and self-preservation when she wasn't much more than Ethan's age. The self-torture and self-destruction that her mother had taught her and condoned. That she hadn't blinked an eye at. That she'd procreated. Erin could understand the desire to slip into a drunk stupor to nod with the pills. To shut it all out. To just not feel for a while. She'd like that too. Oblivion. Sometimes it felt nice. Still. Even in her 20s – almost 30s. Even having experienced what having a family was – and a real job and a purpose. Things to take pride in and to take responsibility for. Some times there were some things in your past that you just couldn't shake – not matter how hard you tried. But the oblivion that the drugs and booze provided was always fleeting. It was why you were always reaching for the next bottle. And the next.

And, that's not what she wanted for her baby brother. So she needed to hang tight. He needed to hang tight too.

So they sat. They waited. And she knew – hoped to God – that all of this. Eventually. It'd pass.

Hank examined them and then stepped to the couch. She eyed him. She wasn't sure what he was going to do. But Ethan's reaction at his sensed presence was to bury his face further into her armpit and clutch at her tighter. She rubbed at his back.

Hank grunted at them. Always non-verbal. Like grunting would fix this. It wouldn't. When she just looked at him – slightly unimpressed – he gestured impatiently, clearly indicating he wanted to sit between them. She gave him an even more annoyed look. That wasn't likely to happen – especially with the way Ethan was clinging to her. But as usual, Hank wasn't taking no for an answer.

He stooped and near pried Ethan away from her. Erin had as much of an adverse reaction as Ethan did – him whimpering in protest, though knowing better than to get into too much of a physical fight with his dad. And, then Hank plopped himself between them – his legs spread wide, taking up more space than he needed to.

Ethan seemed to settle stiffly against his father, his face still buried in an attempt to try to hide the crying he'd been doing. To try to avoid the anticipated scolding from his father. But Hank said nothing. They all just sat there again for a while. It almost felt like Erin could feel the time ticking by. Slowly. Almost painfully. It was awkward. It was strained.

But then Hank's other arm came up and wrapped it around her shoulder, pulling her to him slightly. She resisted for a moment but then allowed it, letting herself settle against him too, temple resting against his shoulder. He squeezed at her shoulder and they sat again. She could feel the tension and the exhaustion in him. The deepness of his sadness.

Finally, he stroked her bicep a bit and then reached and stroked her head and hair a few times. He likely hadn't done that since she was about 16 and teetering with her own deep sadness, tension and exhaustion. Hank hugged. He cupped cheeks. He gave little pats of affection. But it was all so measured. Then, though, he tilted his head slightly and placed a small kiss somewhere in the midst of the crown of her head before shifting and doing the same to Ethan, ruffling more at his son's hair and then stroking at his back in slow, calming movements that you'd give a wailing infant.

"You know," Hank finally said after another long silence, "after your brother was born – your mother and I had really wanted to have another baby. For him to have a sibling, 'cuz neither of us had had one. Four. That's what we'd talked about. Four kids. Don't know where we came up with that number. But getting pregnant again, wasn't quite as easy the second time around. Things just didn't seem to want to take. We started seeing some doctors. Thinking about some other options. But then I got my shield and ended up going undercover more and just … busy with work. Not around as much as I should be. And we stopped really trying. Got put on the backburner. Or we just stopped talking about it.

"When your sister came home," Hank said and gripped at her shoulder again, "we made a deal. Erin would live with us. We'd give her a home. But your mom – she wasn't going to do it herself. I was bringing her home. I was going to be home. So I was. I did better about it. I did real good at it for a while. Nd it was good for me too. To be home more with my wife. My kids. My family. I've got a job to do but my family – it's the most important thing. Me being there too – good for the family in other ways too, 'cuz all of a sudden, your mom was telling me you were on the way."

Hank rubbed at Ethan's back more. "Your mom was so excited when we found out she was pregnant. She was fucking bursting with excitement, Magoo," Hank almost whispered. "I was excited too. And your brother and your sister. We were all really happy to be adding you to our family. Even more happy when you got here.

"There's so fucking much of your mom in you. I know you were little and you can't remember everything about her. But I do. And you help me – all this family – remember her, because she's in you, E. Really there. You were her baby boy. A fucking mama's boy. But it worked on you. And it still does. I'm OK with that because it means I still get a piece of Camille. In you. And your brother and sister. But her genes won out with you, Magoo. They really fucking did.

He let out a heavy sigh. One that almost rattled. "I know some people have said things or you've overheard things or you've thought them yourself that somehow me or your brother or your sister would've preferred that it was your mom that pulled through that night. But that's just not true. I know for a fact, that if your mother had any fucking choice in the matter, she still would've picked you to get to live life, Ethan. She wouldn't have thought for a second about making sure it was you who pulled through that night. Because your mother wanted you to live life and experience it.

"She did so much to make sure you were all set up for that. Even with her gone she made sure you were all set up for that. She made sure you had a big brother and a big sister and all these people who really fucking care about you. I know how hard it can be to have to finish growing up without one of your parents. But your mom made sure you've got Erin here to do the things for you and be the things for you, I can't. And she made sure you had a big brother, who's a fucking pain in my ass and stands up to me and argues on your behalf even if he says and does some pretty stupid shit sometimes. And your mom made sure I really, really knew how important family is. Family first. Father first. And being a father to you three is the most important thing to me – even if I go about it in boneheaded ways sometimes. I make fucking mistakes too, Ethan. But I try. I really do fucking try for you kids. And, when you do things to hurt yourself or you say things about hurting yourself – it fucking kills me.

"I figured out how to do this. How to make this family work after your mom was gone. But I don't know how to do that if anything happens to any of you kids. But especially you, E."

Erin gave Hank a small glance. His chin was elongated as he fought back his own tears in glassy eyes. His tongue rotating around the inside of his cheeks as he tried to level himself.

"It will fucking destroy me, Ethan," he rasped raggedly. "Don't do that to me."

A single, quiet tear trickled down his cheek and feel against where Erin's arm was resting. But Hank didn't move to swipe it. He just gripped at the both of them tighter, falling silent again.

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE: So I've been playing with some random chapters/scenes from around Christmas/New Years for this AU and characters. They'd be some spoilers if I were to clean them up and post them. Let me know how you feel about that in a PM or review.**

 **I also have been playing with an idea for a short story set at Thanksgiving that includes the characters from this AU and the SVU characters as set in the Hello, Goodbye/Welcome Home AU. It'd be set in NYC. I haven't started writing that one yet but have been rotating some ideas through my head about the interactions. It'd also contain some spoilers related to this story and also for where WH is headed for any readers of that SVU AU. So let me know how you feel about that too.**

 **Also, so people know, the general feedback I've gotten has mostly been "don't end" this on this story. I'm willing to do that — but people should sort of keep in mind that it means that traditional story structure won't really follow then if it keeps going. There will reach a point where after I get through the climax and resolution of this set of events that things sort of just become scenes involving characters. So making sure people are OK and comfortable with that. It means that there won't be a definitive conclusion. It will evolve into a collection of OS and scenes.**

 **Also, if there are any of my SVU readers who follow this story, just letting you know I have a very rough draft of an OS involving the Liv/Will/Noah characters. If that's something you'd be interested in me finishing/posting, let me know. It's just an OS — doesn't fit in directly in any of the stories.**

 **I'm a little stuck with Welcome Home for the SVU readers who've been asking about it. I know where it's going and it's long ago mapped out. But the next few chapters I need to get through in it have tripped me up so that's why it's been a bit stagnant for a while.**


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